


Like the Foam on the River

by Selcier



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional idiots, M/M, Mortis (Star Wars), Slow Burn, alyruko, everyone sucks at communication, gratuitous use of 'flesh hand', less kissing and more saddness, obikin, obikinbigbang, obikinbigbang2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier
Summary: "You don’t want me to stay?”Kenobi takes a step closer so they are near to each other. He attempts to summon wisdom that any other Jedi of worth would bestow in such a moment. All of their platitudes and dogmatic tripe hammer at his heart; meaningless and unsubstantial. Instead, all he has are his feelings; feelings that would have been better left on the floor of the crèche. “I want you to do what you think is best.” He slides his hand up Anakin’s arm and feels the unyielding metal beneath his sleeve. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. For you to make your own choices.”Except now that he’s said such things, a lump forms in the back of his throat like a gag and his eyes grow hot and prick with pain. He looks away from Anakin’s face. “I think you’ve already come to a decision.” He keeps his gaze firm on the ground “I will miss you.”Anakin’s hands settle on his shoulders and he has to look up when he feels the rush of Anakin’s feelings through the Force, amplified by the very ground they are standing on. His joints ache under the pressure. Anakin’s limbs weight heavy on his shoulders and he slumps under the weight. “Master. Obi-wan. I will miss you as well. More than I should."





	1. Prologue

 

Obi-wan keeps his eyes on the floor. He’s kneeling, his knees and and lower back seizing with the strain of holding himself up. He concentrates on the tiny flecks of glimmering crystals in the weaved of the stone floor; tracing their patterns as he waits.

There is little else to distract his mind from the gnawing pain in his heart.

The Councilors have been deliberating for as long as he can remember. He’d left Anakin in the care of a Handmaiden confident that she would be a better caretaker than the Palace Guard. He’d promised Anakin that they would see each other before the parade. Obi-wan hoped for as much his sake as Anakin’s that his words would prove to be true.

It's quiet in the hall. The room seems untouched by the brief occupation of the Trade Federation. The attack on the city never crept this far in beyond the infiltration of battle droids. No bombs shattered walls or blasted through windows here. He can hear the distant drone of machines clearing rubble outside the palace and the faint song of birds in trees in the gardens outside. The sun is setting leaving behind only the rosey shades of deep pink and violet painted across the sky.

It almost appears as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened over the past few days.

But Obi-wan’s Master is dead.

He starts to count the spokes of an ornamental carving in the floor when the doors to the impromptu council room open. The Masters who came on the transport from Coruscant file out, mumbling amongst themselves; the holo versions of the other members already disconnected from the feed. They ignore Obi-wan on the floor, knowing that they can offer few words of peace.

Yoda only speaks once they are alone, his cane tapping on the floor as he paces back and forth before Obi-wan’s bowed head. “Confer on you the level of jedi Knight the Council does. But agree with you taking this boy as your padawan learner, I do not.”

Obi-wan looks up then, his breath hitching in his chest. He feels the joy of being Knighted as a cold stone in his stomach. “Qui-gon believed in him,” he says, his tongue stiff in his mouth.

“The Chosen the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I fear in his training.”

A hot rush of anger chases the cold form his limbs and his words pour from his mouth before he can curb his frustration. “Anakin must be trained. Without the approval of the Council if I must.”

Yoda huffs, slamming his cane down on the floor in a ringing crack. “Qui-gon’s defiance I sense in you. Need that you do not.” He turns to face Obi-wan, his lips pressed in a thin line. “The boy will be trained. But this burden is not for you to bear.”

“Master, Yoda, I gave Qui-gon my word. I will train Anakin. It is a Knight’s choice to choose a padawan. And I choose Anakin. You will not dissuade me.” Obi-wan's hands fist in the thin fabric of his borrowed pants. It had been three days since Qui-gon died and Obi-wan had peeled his own bloodied robes from his skin. “I must train Anakin.”

“Young, you are. Bested a darksider in combat but old enough for a padawan you are not.”

Obi-wan stands, his legs numb and unsteady beneath him and his fists shaking at his sides. He cannot look the Master in the face, ashamed of his outburst but left with little choice. He had promised. “There can be no objection to my training him, Master Yoda.”

  
The old Jedi sighs, his ears dropping. He taps his cane lightly on the floor twice before speaking. He sounds tired, his voice faded. “Agree with you the Council does not. But the Council’s place it is not to choose padawans. Your apprentice, Skywalker will be.” Yoda looks up at him, "May the Force be with you both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ObikinBigBang2017 !!
> 
> Title: Sir Walter Scott's 'Lady of the Lake: Canto 3'
> 
> He is gone on the mountain,  
> He is lost to the forest,  
> Like a summer-dried fountain,  
> When our need was the sorest.  
> The font reappearing  
> From the raindrops shall borrow;  
> But to us comes no cheering,  
> To Duncan no morrow!
> 
> The hand of the reaper  
> Takes the ears that are hoary,  
> But the voice of the weeper  
> Wails manhood in glory.  
> The autumn winds rushing  
> Waft the leaves that are searest,  
> But our flower was in flushing  
> When blighting was nearest.
> 
> Fleet foot on the correi,  
> Sage counsel in cumber,  
> Red hand in the foray,  
> How sound is thy slumber!  
> Like the dew on the mountain,  
> Like the foam on the river,  
> Like the bubble on the fountain,  
> Thou art gone—and for ever!
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know if you notice any glaring errors. I've read this karking thing so many times I'm sick of looking at it. Also, constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> The amazing art was created by alyruko for this fic!!! I can't stop looking at it! Thank you so much Aly! You can also see more of their amazing art on tumblr here: http://alyruko.tumblr.com/
> 
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/selcier


	2. Time Begins and Stops Now

The clone folds up the tent flap and blunders inside while Mace finishes off the last syllable of his name and title as an introduction.

“General Windu to see you sir.”

Skywalker staggers to his feet from his spot on the cot as the Mace steps into the dark tent, his hands scrambling to find purchase on the jar of bacta and the strips of bandages tumbling out of his lap. “Master Windu, “he says. His eyes are darting back to the figure behind him on the narrow bed. “Knight Kenobi is asleep.” He wrinkles his nose.

Mace waves a hand through the air as his sits on the opposite bed. The air is rank with mud and blood and human sweat. But it's a smell he has come to cherish in rare moments of silence. He cannot fault the two other Jedi for their discarded armor and battle plans spread about in a chaotic mess. A thin, yellow light shines from the top of the storage case casting Skywalker in a tarnished sheen.

“Your Captain tells me the planet is fully in Republican control.”

Skywalker lowers himself back to the cot and shifts his medical supplies to rest on Kenobi’s lower back. The resting man is shirtless and filthy, lying on his front. But the thick stripe of clean skin across his shoulder blades boasts a red and bubbling gash. Skywalker’s long fingers twist in the bandages.

“Yes, sir. We’ve captured the last battalion this morning. Their command ship jumped into hyperspace after Yularen’s bombardment.” His face turns slightly towards his previous master.

“And Knight Kenobi?”

“Injured yesterday. A droideka sliced him after he was thrown by an explosion.” He looked down at his knees. “I'm just changing his dressing. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Mace nods which appears to spur Skywalker into action. He dips his hand into the bacta and spreads it liberally on the cut. The acidic scent fills the tent burning Mace’s nostrils and causing his eyes to tear. “I’ll hear the report later. For now, I’m here to escort you both back to into Orbit. You’ll be boarding the Vigilance post-haste. Your troops can finish up without you.”

The younger man stays focused on his task but cocks his head. “Is this a Council request? Or from the Senate?”

Mace understands his surprise. It isn't often that Jedi are called back from the field in the middle of a campaign. With their floundering numbers, the Council and the Senate are wont to keep them away from the Temple. “A request call was noted. You and Knight Kenobi will be investigating.”

Skywalker nods as he screws the lid back on the jar. “All the notes in my comm?”

Mace doesn’t have to answer as they both know the response. Instead, he watches as Skywalker lays a long and thick bandage over the red stripe and secures it with bio-tape. He smooths down the edges with a light touch a few times in contemplation. Kenobi shifts under the attention; bringing his arms up underneath the thin pillow and burying his face farther into the ratty cloth. He mumbles into the filthy pile in his sleep.

The youngest Jedi watches him for another moment before turning his full attention on the Master. His face is creased and sharp with fatigue and his cheeks have lost their boyish glow. Instead, his temples and nose are streaked with mud and the curly hair framing his face is matted to his neck and ears. Most of his armor is dumped on the floor, along with Kenobi’s white vambraces, and his tunics are half opened. Mud and refuse covers his boots almost up to the knee.

“Get some rest in hyperspace. Your men will be off rotation soon enough.”

The Jedi sags forward and Kenobi whispers again. “Yes, sir,” Skywalker says. He reaches back into his lap from where his hand had been resting on Kenobi’s back to clutch at his lightsaber. “Understood.”

Mace stands up to take his leave. He scowls at the tent flap before turning around again. Skywalkers’ metal hand is back on Kenobi’s back and he isn’t looking after Mace’s departure. He leaves them to the mud.

 

*******************************

 

Yularen is already deep in conversation with Commander Cody as Anakin and Obi-wan enter the Bridge; their heads bend over the table holomap detailing the hyperplanes and movement of key destroyers. White flashes bloom and explode as ships enter comm range or go silent as they enter hyperspace. Red lines streak across the inflated projection of the planet hovering about the rest of the map. In the background of the Bridge, a dull roar of radio chatter and orders remains pitched at a low level.

“Generals,” Cody says snapping to attention and saluting immediately with crisp attention to form.

Yularen responds more slowly but is just as courteous in his address. “General Skywalker, General Kenobi. We have received our destination from the Jedi Temple. We are prepping your shuttle now.”

“Thank you,” Obi-wan says. He walks over to the holomap with more of a strained shuffle that lacks his usual poise. “The Council was quite firm in their expectation for our immediate departure. I doubt they would have pulled us from the surface otherwise.”

Cody nods in agreement. “Of course, sir. You have been cleared by medical but have been advised to keep your movements to a minimum.”

Anakin rolls his eyes behind Obi-wan’s back. “Oh yes, of course he will.”

Obi-wan ignores him although he does allow himself a smile under the shadow of his beard. “Yes, yes, Cody. Now.” He motions across the holomap with a flex of his arm and banishes the planet. “Here are coordinates the Council has recovered from the distress call. It is puzzling, however, that there appears to be little to nothing in this sector.”

The virtual representation of the system expands to show a variety of distant stars and a lonely sun and orbiting planet. “This system was deemed uninhabitable by the last scientific expedition only 70 standard years ago. It is doubtful that the environment could have improved so drastically in such a short amount of time.” He reached up to stroke at his beard, pulling the hairs as he was silent.

“Didn’t the report mention it was a Jedi code, sir?” Cody questioned? His helmet is slung underneath his arm as he glances at Anakin and Obi-wan.

“Hmm, yes it was. Not one used for a very long time, however.”

Anakin stays quiet from behind his former Master. The entire situation leaves a knot in his gut. He shifts from one foot to another and clenches his metal fist as it flashes in the blinking lights of the guidance systems. Obi-wan glances over his shoulder at Anakin’s silence.

“But no matter,” he says. “We’ll depart as soon as the last squadron touches down on the planet surface for sweeps. I’d rather stay on board and face the Council’s ire before leaving you before things settle down.”

Yularen nods and reaches up to his ear to relay orders. “Of course sir.”

Cody salutes again as Obi-wan turns to face Anakin. He smiles and reaches out to lay a hand on the taller man’s shoulders. “As fastidious as you’ve been over my condition, I’d like to rest on a real mattress if you don’t mind.”

Anakin pinches his lips together but nods. “Of course, Master.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow at his behavior but leaves him his privacy as they part ways.

Anakin’s legs take him to an alcove overlooking the flight deck. The rarely used control room is dark and littered with deep-system control panels that rarely need to be checked. Large transparent panels look out over the main hangar and the lights illuminating the tech stations filter through into the secluded room. Below him, Anakin sees the scurry of GAR troops as well as Republic mechanics and astromechs. Wheeled shuttles ferry troops and dispatchers from hub to hub as LAAT/i carry wave after wave of refreshed garrisons to the planet’s surface.

Within hours, the activity will die down as most of the Open Circle Fleet touches down on the planet to scrape up the remaining Separatist factions. Then, cleaning droids will slide across the smooth, expansive floor sucking up debris and exhaust byproducts. But by then, Anakin and Obi-wan will be gone.

Anakin pulls out his commlink from his inner robes and settles down in a dark corner under the window. Padme’s tiny blue form springs to life and he blinks stars out of his vision.

“Anakin!” she says, clasping her hands and smiling up at him. “What a surprise!”

“A good one, I hope, m’lady,” He says, the corner of his lips quirking up. “I hope I’m not interrupting any important Senator business.”

She ignores his jibe but laughs anyways. “You know very well I’m on Naboo with my family.”

“I thought a Democracy's work never ended?”

She swats the air in front of her but her smile grows. “And I thought you were in the Outer Rim. How is it that the Great Hero with No Fear is able to find the time for a dear friend?”

Anakin’s smile dims and the suppressing ache of the Force on the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’m not really calling for a chat, Padme.” He looks down at his bent knees. “Sorry.”

Her lifted face sinks but her patient demeanor gives him confidence. “Go on, Ani, Is this about Obi-wan?”

“No, no. Obi-wan’s fine. A bit scratched up. But okay really. He had me worried but we’re on the ship now. He’s fine.” He pauses and clears his throat, “I’ve just got a bad feeling.” He knows that she won’t be able to address his Force warnings, but he knows she’ll take his mind off of them.

“I know you’ll be up to whatever the galaxy throws at you. Just give it your usual abandon and you’ll probably end up resurrecting an extinct species or something.”

Her example is so ridiculous he can’t help but chuckle. “I’ll try to make sure that it's a cute species. Just for you.”

They spend a moment looking down at their comms before Anakin tries for a less fraught subject. He can’t remember all the times he’s fled to Padme about some bad feeling or another. She graciously treats each separate instance as if it's the first time; always thinking of something witty to say to lighten his heart.

“Did you see the Chancellor when you were last on Coruscant?” she asks. “At a committee meeting last week he mentioned he hadn’t seen you in some time. He seems worried about your wellbeing.”

He snorts so violently that he bangs his head of the mall behind him. The vibration of the sheet metal shivers down his spine. “Worried about his pet project Jedi is more like it.” He scowls down at her fuzzy image. “But yeah, we did meet.”

Padme’s hand covers her mouth as she tries to politely stifle her smile. “By your expression, I suppose the Chancellor’s actions could be bestowed upon a more willing recipient.”

“Hmm… maybe I could start making suggestions to the Council. I’d love to see how far Windu would jump to replace me as the liaison. Him and Yoda insist on briefing him personally. Not that I’m arguing, mind you.”

“Personally, Anakin, I think you’re best for the job.” She settles her hands in front of her in the folds of her gown. “You aren’t tied down by loose partnerships or past favors to be owed. Your judgement is completely without bias.”

Anakin needs to glance away from her earnest gaze. “M’lady, you confuse me with some other upstanding Jedi.”

“You take yourself too lightly, Ani.” Her face slips to something soft with affection. “I trust so few in this war. Sometimes I feel that you and Bail are all I have left.” She licks her lips before continuing. “I admit; I’m not bringing this up just to assuage your ego.”

He tests a small smile, “Oh?”

“To be truthful, Ani, I have long suspected a puppeteer in the Senate. Someone controlling the policy and committee decisions. Nothing is getting done! Simple bills go unread and vetoed without review.” Her voice raises in volume and passion with every word and her hands form into delicate fists. “I feel like I need to bring this to the attention of the Senate but there are so few honest Representative to which I feel confident voicing my suspicions.”

She looks down at her feet and her voice quiets. “I even feel as though I cannot confide in Bail about my suspicions. I don’t wish to put him in such a position. He opposes the Chancellor often enough. I don’t want to turn heads in his direction.”

Anakin purses his lips and shifts on the floor. “This isn’t really my thing, Padme. Obi-wan is better at the planning part of our partnership.”

She sighs and her arms drop to hand at her sides. “Yes, Ani, I apologize for my outburst. I was supposed to be helping you and I burdened you with my own problems. I am sorry.”

He smiles at her and tilts his head. “You did,” he says, “help me I mean. And I want to help you sometimes too. Just in this case, I would help by telling Obi-wan and then he would help you.” He grins at her as her face turns up to look at him. “Do you want our help?”

She offers him a tentative smile in return. “Just focus on your mission for now, Ani. We’ll talk in person when you return. This isn’t a conversation I should have started over an open comm line.”

“We will, m’lady,” he says. “When I get back.”

He closes the connection and leans his head back gently against the wall. The light streaming in from the hanger flickers occasionally as shuttles pass underneath. He has a bad feeling about this.

 


	3. Prophecy

It doesn’t take long, once they leave the fleet, for Anakin to locate the source of the code through the navi computer. Although, the planet is hardly what Obi-wan would consider to be natural; it reeks of a trap. He suggests to Anakin that they waste no time in investigating it. Anakin smiles and agrees.

Neither of them ever had much sense, Obi-wan confesses to himself as they touch down in a brilliant field.

The planet flows with the energy of the Living Force. It catches them up in its river and drowns them in its deep serenity. They wander from grassy knoll to sun-burnt gully crossing along bubbling creeks and shadowed caves. The silence breaks only with the sound of their voices and the stir of the wind. They do not happen upon and animals or sentient life. The sound of their light footfalls on the rich soils sounds echo through the crisp air.

For a bitter moment, the unnatural beauty of the planet strikes him like a slap across the place before it washes away in a swell of the force.

After the sun has passed from one horizon almost to another, Obi-wan watches Anakin from a crop of sun-dappled trees while the younger plucks wildflowers and weaves them in a braid. His long fingers find the base of the green and fleshy stems, plucking them with quiet contentment. He brings each bright plume up to his face to inhale with a soft suck of warm breath.

“Padme taught me this,” he says, “On Naboo right before I was Knighted.”

Obi-wan stretches his back and offers to tie the bountiful chain around Anakin’s neck. Somehow, their mission seems less of a priority with every passing exhale.

They are interrupted right before dusk. The fire of the setting sun illuminates the woman in a hazy glow and her companion in the harsh stark contrast of shadow and brilliant red light of the setting sun. Both Anakin and Obi-wan stumble to their feet, their lightsabers igniting in their haste. But their efforts fail as the woman raises her hands to speak. Their plasma blades shudder off, inert.

“Welcome,” she says. “We’ve been expecting you for some time.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow at her statement. “It was you who sent the distress call then?”

She smiles, a humorless straightening of her lips. “It was.”

The Daughter convinces them of the Father’s desire to help them as the Son wallows behind her back, occasionally adding a spiteful jab or reaching for her waist. She shies just out of his reach.

Obi-wan and Anakin agree to accompany the two to the Father’s Palace. “We are, after all,” Obi-wan reminds himself through the guise of teasing his former padawan, “still on a mission for the Council.”

“Have Jedi been here before?” Anakin asks the siblings. “We’re looking for one. We think.”

“The Father will explain everything,” the Daughter says as she ushers them on their way.

Obi-wan personally finds the Father’s explanation of the planet rather astonishing although a bit contrived. He’d already determined that they’d been lured to this spot. Even the Council could see as much.

He feigns light-heartedness in his response, however, as is their way. He crosses his arms over his chest and shifts his weight to one foot. “I suppose than there was something you needed us for, then, is there not?” He can feel the heavy weight of his ‘saber lying useless at his hip and tastes Anakin’s frustration in the top of his mouth.

The ceiling of the monstrous building rises up high above their heads, lost to darkness above. The Daughter and Son flank the Father on his dais, their head illuminated from behind but glowing orbs of light. Stained glass windows soar up along the outer walls depicting sharp colors and shapeless scenes. The massive room is cold like the heat is being soaked up by the deep gray walls.

“I have called you here, yes, Master Jedi,” The Father rises from his throne in the cathedral and steps down from the dais with breath that stirs his long beard.

Obi-wan frowns but pushes his surge of annoyance at the title to the Force.

“For it is here that you are both needed. I have waited patiently until I knew the Jedi Council would send you and no others.” With a sweep of his hand, he gestures to a newly formed doorway off to the side of the extensive Hall. “If you will.”

The group emerges out of the monastery to the last remains of the light. Above, the skies are awash with the stars of a thousand systems that glitter and twinkle in the black sky. Only a few torches blemish the satin sheen of the mosaic. They move to the center as the Father bids. Anakin watches with narrowed eyes and a scowl.

“For longer than you can imagine, I have watched over this world and my Children.” He folds his hands behind his back. “My Children have wonderful and terrifying power; and, always in balance they are.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Obi-wan glimpses the Daughter settle onto the smooth floor and close her eyes in a meditative pose. Her skin flickers with movement and her bones ripple and flex in a terrible moment of grotesque pain. He feels Anakin’s sudden alarm and confusion, cutting through his own surging emotions. But they say nothing as she settles to the floor in the form a giant winged beast. He white feathers gleam in the dim light and she cocks her head to the side bidding them to comment.

“Impressive,” Obi-wan says, crossing his arms over his chest. Anakin snorts next to him but his thoughts straighten. “But I think we’re entitled to full explanation of why you summoned us here.”

The Father gestures up towards the sky as he turns in a wide circle. Anakin follows him, eyes fixated on the bright flickering lights of distant systems. He always said he wanted to see them all.

“You have a very simple view of the universe. I am neither Sith, nor Jedi. I am much, much more. And so are you.” The Father

Obi-wan sees the Daughter shift closer to him, her wide wings flex and stretch and she leans her weight on her front feet. This close, he can hear the rustle of her plumage in the breeze.

“I am a Jedi,” Anakin says. His tone leaves no room for arguments. The Father smiles at him in response and reaches up to stroke his long beard.

“Are you? Is that what the Force made you for? To do the bidding of a corrupt Senate and failing Council?”

Anakin jerks back in surprise. “What?”

Obi-wan focuses in on Anakin’s indignation. It feels like a slap. His distraction gives the Daughter an opportunity to slide up behind him. He feels the warning through the Force as it rings out in his mind, a moment too late.

  
Anakin turns as the Father nods at a point behind him. The Daughter pulls Obi-wan’s wrists, bound in one taloned fist, forcing him to his knees. Her enormous beak opens wide across the top of the other Jedi’s head as a red tongue drips overtop of his golden hair. Obi-wan can feel her hot breath on his face and smell the musky wet of her feathers and the deep iron of the dirt curled underneath her scaly feet. Her eyes glitter down at him as his skins burns with the heat of her inner light.

Anakin takes a step towards them, sweeping a hand out across the scene. “What is this?”

The Son steps out from behind the Daughter’s massive form and up to Obi-wan’s side. He wraps one pale, long fingered hand around the human’s chin and forces his face in Anakin’s direction. “This,” he says “This is -”

“A test.” The Father interrupts. “Your test.” He steps up beside Anakin folds his hands beneath the cover of his long sleeves. “I had heard the rumors of the Chosen One. I brought you here to see for myself if they are true.”

Anakin turns on him, his face enlightened with anger. His fists clench at his side. “And what does this prove?”

“You have a choice, young Jedi.” The Father sweeps his and out at his children again to draw Anakin’s attention towards them. “The life of your friend, or his dignity.” At his quiet comment, Obi-wan feels the sharp stab of the Daughter’s beak pierce the side of his forehead and thin trickle of blood dribble down his face and neck into the cloth of his robes.

More disturbing, however, is the gleaming knife the Son hold up in his sight before slipping it out of view. A fresh burst of cold air washes across his torso a moment later as his robes fall open. The point of the knife carves a thin line down his chest. Obi-wan tastes salt on his lips as he inhales sharply. The talons around his wrists squeeze and the Son’s cold hands slips around his waist, trailing over his pebbling skin.

The Son chuckles under his breath. “The things my Father asks of me.” He licks his lips and sneers down at Obi-wan.

“What type of choice is this?” Anakin growls. He swings towards the Father, his face contorted and spittle flying from his cracked lips. “I demand you release him to me now!”

The Father reacts to Anakin’s rage with only a blank face. “This is the choice the Force offers you.”

Obi-wan feels Anakin’s pain and anger through the Force infused air. It chokes him with its black hatred and vile bitterness. A lump of fear lodges behind his throat; not for his situation, but for Anakin. He opens his mouth with a groan as a rivulet of blood moistens his dry tongue. “Anakin, I wish to live another day. Let me make this choice for you.” He wants to add that it is his body they’re toying with. But he swallows that thought down with the real acid building in the back of his throat.

The Father responds with “This is the Chosen One’s choice only” as Anakin shouts at Obi-wan’s proclamation.

“Do you think I could let him do that to you?” Anakin reaches out; a fine sheen of sweat rising on his neck and forehead. “That I could watch as he-” He chokes off his words and his face ripples again swinging from fear to determination. His eyebrows furrow deep over his eyes and his hands turn to tight fists. “I would not, Master. And I will not.”

The Son snaps his teeth at Anakin as a feral animal might. He slides the knife lower. “Choose, you filthy moral. Would you like my sister to snap off his pretty head or should I show him the pleasure he’s missing as part of your sad Order?” His mouth curves into a petty smile. “I promise that he’ll enjoy it.”

Obi-wan feels Anakin’s thoughts crash against his mind like a physical battering ram. The clouds far above whip up into a funnel as a cutting wind scores across the courtyard. The fine hairs trapped under his sweaty robes frizz with harbored electricity and the sour smell of burning atmosphere sears his nose.

His former student grimaces into the wind. “This planet is the Force. And if you think that I’ll allow you to lay a hand on him, you’re wrong.” Snapping out his arms and squeezing his fist in an imaginary vice, Anakin twists the planet’s energy to his unbending will. Obi-wan feels the Force stretch and throb with Anakin’s direction. It rushes up through the tiny spaces under their bodies in a howl of released pressure.

“You will not have him.” Anakin says, his voice low. His black and golden arm flashes in the dim light as the tiny servos whirl.

A glob of saliva spills onto Obi-wan’s shoulder as the Daughter whips her head in fury. Her wings flap and beat at the air, pummeling his body into the unyielding titled ground. In her trashing, he hears the Son drop his dagger with a clatter and sputter in indignation as he reaches up to claw at his throat.

Obi-wan slumps into a messy heap and covers his head with his freed arms. The wind stirred up by the beast’s thrashing rips at his sensitive back and propels grit and pebbles into his eyes. The Son, stumbling around and clutching at his neck, kicks and stomps on the Jedi at his feet in his anger and confusion.

“Yield!” Anakin roars out from across the courtyard, “This test is over.” He jerks his fists up to the sky and the siblings’ bodies surge up at his command. His mouth twists with satisfaction.

The Father steps up and lays one hand of tissue thin skin on Anakin’s mechanical arm. “Enough, it is done.”

Anakin glances at Obi-wan huddled on the ground and his fists shake.

“Enough” the Father prompts again.

Anakin drops his arms and the Daughter and Son fall to the ground wheezing for breath. “Not so immortal, then.” He sneers and spits on the ground. His pupils are blown out across his blue eyes, black and wide. His wild buzz of emotions clouds the Force; a thin thread of reckless abandon snapping out.

In a heartbeat, the sky clears and a cool evening balm of celestial light settles over the yard.

“You have passed the test, young Jedi.” The Father says. He gestures with an open palm and the Daughter presses her bulk against Obi-wan’s side. Her rattling breaths vibrate through to his body with each inhale. He lays smeared across the floor as she presses her beak into the back of his neck. He can only see the mass of plumage tickling at his face.

But over the sound of her breath rushing through hard nostrils and past his ears, he hears Anakin’s voice. Angry and uncontrolled, he echoes in the Force like oil fire consuming a Starfighter.

Of course, now Obi-wan regrets this mission. When they’d first arrived, the world was new and fascinating. Here he could feel the Living Force run through his veins and whisper like soothing balm in his heart. But then they’d come across the Daughter and the Son and now the Father. And now Obi-wan is nothing more than a pawn in their plot for the Chosen One’s favor.

He squirms from side to side in his place on the casting circle. His freshly cut back and chest ache with every movement and jostle. Despite his earlier words of reason, he remains unable to take control of this situation and assist his partner.

“Let him up.” The Father’s voice swims through his consciousness as crisp as through the air. The Daughter rolls back into her humanoid form in as graceful a manner as she had slammed him to the ground just before. The Son sneers down at him from where he stands nearby. A red ring circles his throat like a livestock brand.

Anakin’s hands are on his partner immediately helping him to sit up and wary of the healing cut on his back. It burns and tears at the edges of the bandage. “Master,” he says. His breath is fast and high. “Are you alright?” This close, Obi-wan can smell the tang of his passion in the Force as if it were a nectar sliding down the back of his tongue. He looks disheveled, his hands hot and his eyelids heavy.

Obi-wans nods but is unable to form his thoughts into anything more effective than “Yes, young one, I’m alright.”

Anakin’s smile transforms his face in his joy and Obi-wan can’t help but feel his soul lift in delight at the pure expression. The younger Jedi crouches down at his former Master’s side.

But the Father wastes no time and stands beside them without preamble. “You have passed, Chosen One. You are worthy to take my place here.”

Anakin’s face tenses and Obi-wan squeezes his eyes shut. He exhales his personal feelings to the Force. But Anakin’s shock and confusion hammers at his mind.

“What? Why would I do that? I’m needed out there.” He makes to stand, and mechanical hand reaches for his lightsaber, but he jerks and instead cups it across the back of Obi-wan’s neck. “The Jedi need me.”

“I am Old, Chosen One. And my children are still Young. After I am gone, they will need a guiding hand in order for the Force to find Balance.” The Father points at Anakin’s chest. “You are the one I’ve been waiting for. You are the one the Force has chosen to lead its Children.”

Anakin shakes his head and his hand squeezes at Obi-wan’s neck. His fingers are cold and hard and Obi-wan focuses on their piercing strength instead of his beating heart.

“It must be done. It is your destiny. Only you can shoulder this burden.” He suddenly looks frail and weathered in the dim light. The skin around his eyes and mouth puckered with age.

The withered Father straightens from his hunched position over their huddled bodies. “I will leave it to your Jedi Master to show you the correct path. And I will grant him an invitation back in the future” He steps back and away, gesturing for this children to follow. The Daughter glides past them without hesitation while the Son stops briefly to grab his knife from the ground. He smiles at Obi-wan with pointed teeth.

Anakin focuses away from their backs and smooths Obi-wan’s hair away from his forehead, running his long fingers through his bloodied beard. He tilts Obi-wan’s face towards him and the older Jedi squashes the urge to flinch. A shiver arches up his neck.

“Are you really okay?”

Obi-wan manages to force a small smile. “Nothing a good soak can’t fix.”

Anakin frowns at him, but doesn’t press for more information.  Instead he plays along and stands, reaching out for Obi-wan’s hand to help him up.

“You’re going to have to make a decision,” Obi-wan says as he attempts to brush off his pants. With trembling hands, he pulls the two cut sides of his robes together to hide his bare chest. A twist of metal from his utility pouch should work well as a fastener.

“I know,” Anakin says. He stills Obi-wan's nervous fingers by covering them with his own. He plucks the pin out of Obi-wan’s hands and fastens the robe himself in a cobbled mess. He smooths down the front as Obi-wan stares at his boots.

“You’re avoiding.” Obi-wan says.

“You too,” Anakin says. Obi-wan looks up to see Anakin’s face is clear. The mechanical fingers brush across his robes again although they’re as presentable as possible given the circumstances.

“I should, shouldn’t I,” he says. He reaches up to run a black thumb across Obi-wan’s cheek, “Fulfill my destiny and all that. Make Qui-Gon proud.”

Obi-wan doesn’t know what to say and his hands clench by his side.

Anakin steps away from and his face puckers up. “The Council would just love it if I was finally out of their way. If I wasn’t running across the galaxy breaking the Jedi Code with every single karking breath!”

“I don’t care about the Republic or about the Council or about any of it!” Anakin says; he swings his arm about in a broad circle. His face is pinched and red; his thought rolling. “All I care about is you and Padme and getting through all of this alive. And if all it takes is for me to stay here, then so be it.”

Obi-wan moves towards him with words on his tongue that quarrel with each other. He reaches out to his friend and rests his hand on his elbow. “Anakin, these are your decisions. This is your burden.”

He knows that Anakin is looking for guidance; for him to say the words that will embrace his choice. But he cannot.

“I am proud of you. In whichever choice you make.”

Anakin’s wild movements slow and he turns to face Obi-wan. His mouth is tight in a thin line. “You don’t want me to stay?”

The older Jedi takes a step closer so they are near to each other. He attempts to summon the phrases he knows he should say; the things that Yoda or Ki-Adi Mundi or any other Jedi of worth would bestow in such a moment. All of their platitudes and dogmatic tripe hammer at his heart; meaningless and unsubstantial. Instead, all he has are his feelings; feelings that would have been better left on the floor of the crèche. “I want you to do what you think is best.” He slides his hand up Anakin’s arm and feels the unyielding metal beneath his sleeve. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. For you to make your own choices.”

Except now that he’s said such things, a lump forms in the back of his throat like a gag and his eyes grow hot and prick with pain. He looks away from Anakin’s face. “I think you’ve already come to a decision.” He keeps his gaze firm on the ground “I will miss you.”

Anakin’s hands settle on his shoulders and he has to look up when he feels the rush of Anakin’s feelings through the Force, amplified by the very ground they are standing on. His joints ache under the pressure of anger and sadness and elation. Anakin’s limbs weight heavy on his shoulders and he slumps under the weight.

“Master. Obi-wan.” Anakin opens his mouth and closes it again. “I will miss you as well. More than I should.”

Obi-wan can’t help but smile at his friend’s words. Such platitudes are so rare among his cohort to be worth all the more when said aloud. He knows Anakin would probably like to say more. Obi-wan fears his heart would crumble.

They stand for a moment, happy to be in each other’s presence without the dull drone of warships in the background or the sharp stench of blood and death. Mortis seems a paradise in a galaxy on the edge of darkness and terror.

But in this moment, a calm and warm breeze tosses Anakin’s hair and the warmth of his body soothes Obi-wan’s aching muscles and stinging back. In this moment, they are simply Anakin and Obi-wan; not The Hero Without Fear and the Negotiator, offering peace to each other. Obi-wan feels his heart grow cold.

The Father interrupts their solitude. He appears to already know Anakin’s decision. “It is time for you leave, Jedi. I will not deviate from my promise. You have my word that you will receive a communication in a few months’ time to return. Your ship is waiting.”

 


	4. Interlude: Padme

When Knight Kenobi contacts her through her assistant, asking for a meeting, Padme’s imagination races through a thousand scenarios. For the Jedi to contact her directly, and without any mention of Anakin, is a troubling idea. But a few late meetings demand her attention before she can return to her office. She instructs Obi-wan to meet her later that evening and directs her assistant to have a light meal delivered. She occasionally is invited to dine with the Jedi Council and can only hope to soften their palate at every opportunity.

Her long earrings sweep across her bare shoulders as she extends her hands to Anakin’s Master when the door hisses open. She brings her most polite and assuring smile to her bare face. “Knight Kenobi,” she says, “It is a pleasure to see you!”

He stands immediately from his spot on a low couch in her small seating arrangement in the antechamber to her work space. His brown robe puddles at the floor as he bows. “Senator Amidala. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me privately.”

“Of course, Obi-wan,” she says gesturing him to sit again. A serving droid appears on cue with a few small platters of treats and cups of steaming tea. She plucks a red fruit covered in a thick cream in order to bid him to do the same. “And I apologize for the later hour of our meeting. I had several appointments that were most pressing.”

Obi-wan offers a small polite small and waves the tray away. The droid sets it between them and disappears. Then, hesitating, he reaches out to the delicate porcelain. He holds it in his hands, twisting the cup. “I do not wish to burden you with my imposition, Senator. So, I shall speak directly to my presence here.” He looks directly up at her. His eyes pinch around the corners and his mouth flattens in a tight line. Despite his straight back and pressed robes, they hang off his shoulders.

Anakin often looks similarly haggard after missions. He expounds often on the severe lack of anything enjoyable and edible and the poor sleeping conditions. He appears to desperately covet Padme’s hospitality when he languishes in her silken sheets and orders extensive meals. She cannot deny him these pleasures.

The holonet brings in report after report of news from the front. Padme watches with Dorme huddled under the blankets and sipping warm drinks; her hands pressed to her face and heart pounding in her breast. And then, the next day, the Senate will discuss troop movements as if they are planning the next banquet; devoid of the the very humanity they are defending. She longs to plead with her fellow Senators to see beyond the coffers of their constituents to the greater threat to Democracy that already overwhelms them.

But she grows tired of the moral high ground after late-night arguments over drinks and early morning spectacles at the banquet table.

Only after Anakin shows up to her apartment with a wide smile and stories of Obi-wan’s close encounters does she allow herself to cry at night. Only underneath her duvet and stripped of her jewels, alone, does she indulge her good fortune that her friends have returned to her battle after battle. At the end of his visit, she sends Anakin back to the Temple and Obi-wan with false cheer.

She offers the same smile to Obi-wan, “Of course, Knight Kenobi.”

“I have recently returned from a special mission from the Council. I doubt it was debated in the Senate as it was not related to the War.” He waited for her confirmation before continuing. “Anakin and I were sent to investigate a deep space distress signal. One that has not been used by the Jedi in many years. We took a shuttle from the main fleet as to not impede their progress on the campaign.”

He spins the cup in his broad hands as it steams.

“And did you find anything? I assume you would not be briefing me if this mission was fruitless.” Padme offers him a terse smile but his gaze remains firm. She doubts he would be so composed it Anakin were truly injured.

“Of course, My Lady. We encountered some difficulties, as is our way I suppose.” He sips from his cup as Padme reaches for another tuft of fruit and cream.

“We did find the location of the signal. A planet, untouched by the War - and even the Republic. A planet of the Force to be more specific. Filled with beings I have never thought to imagine.”

Padme believes him as she knows him to be truthful to at least her. But her mind balks at his description of the planet and the Force beings. The Force, to her, exists only as a magical idea in the minds a few great Jedi. She imagines it must be something like love: a powerful force that moves people to murder and unconditional sacrifice. A murmur in the heart that cannot be explained by words alone.

In conversations with Obi-Wan and Anakin, she sees them transfixed as such at mentions of the Force. They glow with happiness and wonder as they discuss their experiences. Obi-wan’s lips tilt up under his beard and Anakin tilts his head as if he is listening to a soft song in his ear. Padme revels in their joy and is happy for them.

But Obi-wan’s experience on the planet of Mortis, as the beings named it, can only compel her to nod as he speaks with little to add or even ask.

She sips most of her drink away by the time he recounts Anakin’s decision to remain in the planet. “My Master, Jedi Master Qui-Gon if you remember, Senator, would be proud. He always believed Anakin to be the Chosen One. The One meant to balance the Force.”

Padme’s hands were cold and clammy around her cup. “Yes,” she says in a soft voice, “I do remember.” She also remembers how much the man sacrificed to see Anakin recognized as his prophesized savior. She doubts Obi-Wan has forgotten as well. “I remember.”

Obi-wan’s fingers skim the rim of his cup. “Anakin also believes that this may be the opportunity that the prophecy spoke of. The Father will train him to watch over his children as the literal manifestations of the Light and Dark sides of the Force. To keep them in Balance.”

“I’ve put in a formal request to the GAR to integrate Anakin’s 501st into my own command. It would be a shame to separate Cody and Rex. They’ve grown quite tolerant of each other over the last years.”

He smiles up at her and she does see joy in his face. His eyes crinkle up at the corners and his face has lost the grey pallor she has become accustomed to in the last few months. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright and clear. He squares his shoulders.

 

But Padme cannot feel his joy in this moment. Her back aches in the comfort of her soft chair and she is distinctly aware the way her shoes pinch her toes. She squeezes her cup and swallows down her dread. It tastes like sludge sliding down her throat.


	5. Down in the Dirt

The tension in the command module flares like a burst of rifle fire. Rex folds his arms across his chest and steps away from the holo-table as General Kenobi clenches his fists around the rim. “Another twelve today, sir,” Cody says. He keeps his back straight; his helmet tucked underneath one arm. But his voice is flat and hoarse from  yelling commands in the field. “That, added to the four we lost yesterday. At this rate, in a few more weeks we’ll be down to just a company and the settlement will be overrun.”

The table flickers as another boom of cannon fire erupts from just outside. The tent shakes briefly with the discharge of wind from the massive gun. Voices from outside shout to each other about recharging and repeat fire. A message over his tight beam informs him that Shadow Squad made it back from their scout. 

“Situation is holding steady outside, General,” Rex says. “Shadow reports Sep movements to the East. I’d reckon they're flanking.”

Cody scoffs and reaches out to adjust the holo-map. “They’d have to be crazy to come up the cliffside. Those clankers can’t keep up that level of torque. Their joints will snap off before they get one click up that hill.”

The General continues staring at the map but is nodding to Cody’s words. “I agree that a flank is not in their interest. But it does appear to be their intention. Perhaps we’re missing something.” He looks up and to his right. He open his mouth before a faint pink blush spreads across his cheeks. He reaches down for his lightsaber and curls his hand around it. The other squeezes the rim of the table tight with the soft creak of weathered leather. 

Rex keeps his face as neutral as possible. It isn't like the General to be so flustered.

But Kenobi straightens from his hunched position a moment later. “I’ll go check it out myself. I want the rest of the men rested and fed. We must brace for another attack. Have them finish up with this sad attach as soon as possible.” He turns to leave as Cody salutes, already raising his helmet to issue orders.

“Sir!” Rex calls out. “I’d like to accompany you. Seems like you might need an extra pair of eyes.”

The General freezes and Rex can see his indecision in the straight line of his shoulders. Kenobi takes in a breath before nodding. His back is turned so his face is shadowed but he acknowledges the request. “Yes, Rex, of course. That would be prudent.” 

They stop only to recover the General’s cloak from his sleeping pallet. The tent is far too large for one man. Rex remembers that the brothers who set up it up two weeks ago argued for a good half-hour about whether or not to include the standard sized trunk that Generals Kenobi and Skywalker normally shared. But the General’s cot is pushed up against one damp wall and the trunk is open nearby; still filled with Skywalker’s gear from the last campaign. The normal detritus of weapon’s parts and droid memory banks is missing from the folds of clothes. The other wall is blank.

The sky ripples with dark with rain clouds. The only light outside the camps comes from exploding energy bursts on the far horizon from Republic guns. Occasionally, a scout ship flashes by in the upper atmosphere. But it is too dark and the air too heavy to see much. Fog blurs their way through the low lying bushes and rocky outcroppings. 

Normally, Rex might worry about the reflective element of his white armor. But the dust and the dirt smeared across his chest from the first few days nullifies his concerns. Kenobi blends into the darkness in his brown robe and soft footfalls.

General Skywalker might have chatted as they walked. Rex remembers him talking about everything from the Jedi Code to the latest upgrade to dampening rods on a classic speeder. Rex himself rarely had anything to add. Kenobi chooses to say nothing on their journey. He only walks at a steady rate a half-step ahead. Rex hopes the General can sense more in the gloom than one poor clone. 

It takes them the better part of the night to walk right into the middle of a Separatist scouting party. The General’s lightsaber slices through two droidekas before their sensors register the two organic presences. By the time he is pulling his blade around in harsh arch to decapitate another clanker, Rex fires off two shots into the belly of a walking data unit the size of a table. It short-circuits in a bright display of sparks that leave bright spots in his vision and a ringing headache. 

“A Jedi,” one droid exclaims as it raises it’s rifle to fire. “Blast them!”

But Kenobi yanks their weapons with a jerk of his hands and sends the droids themselves crashing into each other with the shriek of bent metal. Rex kicks the pile in case any have an automatic backup system without their cranial cases. An arm flails in the messy pile before Rex shoots it again. 

The General crouches over the data unit after Rex deems the area secure enough. His heads-up display informs him that no transmissions were detected during their brief encounter. He informs the General as much.

“Well that’s one good thing to hear,” Kenobi says standing. “Radio back to base with our position. I want a team out to secure this machine - whatever it is. We’ll continue on as planned.” 

They start off into the night again after Rex has a fix on their back-up. Their walk lasts only a few minutes, however, as the weak dawn hints of a shallow light over the horizon. “Shadow Squad puts the main contingent two clicks to our left. We should be able to spot them from the base of the mountain.”

Kenobi motions him to lead on. The dirt under their feet reflects the dull light in a endless grey blanket disrupted only by small piles of pebbles. The planet, flat for the most part, is broken haphazardly by steep mountainsides rising up from the plains. With the dawn, they can spot the ragged peaks towering over them. The GAR camp is settled on the other side, right at the base of the mountain’s shaven face. 

“Rex, two scouts, straight ahead.”

They sink low to the ground and circumvent the two droids. Their footsteps stand out in the flat sandy earth but clankers never check for such sentient forms of activity. They position themselves that the tight angle where plain joins the mountain. Curled up on their heels, in the dim light they look like nothing more than two more dull rocks. Rex rubs more of the dirt up over his helmet for good measure. 

The forward operating base bustles with activity. Centered around two hulking ships, droids scatter in between transport vessels and gun stations with their own menial tasks. Rex and Keobi both pull out binoculars. Rex swallows back a comment about the size of the General’s Jedi standard issue. That would be a comment for Skywalker. 

“Is that Dooku’s Solar Sailer?” Kenobi mutters, his hand tightening around his binoculars. His other reaches for his lightsaber again.

“Behind the cruisers, sir. The droids.” 

Kenobi sighs. “Jet packs. How wonderful.” He sets the binoculars back in his waist punch and lifts his arm, tapping on his com. “Cody, come in.” 

Rex hears the fuzz of the connection over his own internal com. “General Kenobi.” Rex can almost hear him salute with the vigor of his greeting. He smiles in the confines of his helmet. 

“Cody, prepare for an aerial assault. I believe the enemy forces will be attempting to use the bulk of the mountains to hide their approach. Turn the main cannons so they have ample firing range over the ridge. Make sure the men are stationed with a clear view of the sky. And please make sure that our weapon stock does not get cut off in they do make landing. I expect battle droids will be able to fire on their descent along with the transports.”

“Yes General. Understood.” 

The General tips his head in Rex’s direction. “Rex will send images to you now of the assault force and then we’ll be on our way back.” 

“Understood, sir. Fives reported that they have the machine you found loaded and are making their way back.”

“Good, Kenobi out.”

Rex focuses in on the transport ships and jet packs. Cody could use for a good scare. The images filter over the tightbeam in a steady clip. 

“Is Dooku here, sir?” He asks. Kenobi’s face falls cold in the dim morning light. 

“He is. I can feel him in the Force. Quiet. But present nonetheless. I think he means to surprise us.” He reaches up to tug on his beard. “He probably expects to find both Anakin and I waiting for him. He’ll surely be disappointment when all he finds is old Knight Kenobi.” He smiles into the distance. 

“I doubt anyone accidentally meeting you could be so disappointed.”

Kenobi ducks his head for a moment. “Rex, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were propositioning me.” 

Rex sits back off his heels and into the dirt. “Uh no sir. I mean, not at this moment. But I’m sure that anyone would want to -” He cuts off his vocalizer. 

But the General is smiling and it’s less wistful than before. “Come, let’s get back before we’re spotted.” 

They make quick work of the return trip. The light guides their way more effectively than the General’s sense of direction. Three clanker scouting parties wander past them in the thin morning but they make it back to the base without incident.  

Cody is caught up delegating work and instructions from the command tent but salutes when they enter. “We’ve sent automated scouts to the top peak to get a read on their timeline. They will report back if the sense any movement on the slope. Also, we’ve got eyes in the air looking for any ships above the mountain. They won’t catch us unaware.”

“Good work, Cody.” The General steps up to the holo-map to observe the layout. “And the data box?”

“We’re still analyzing that sir. We had to send it up to the fleet.” 

Rex is able to catch a brief nap before the air sirens explode through the camp. There is no need to gear up as he fell asleep with this pistol holsters firmly secured around his waist. As he rushes out of the tent, he remembers General Skywalker telling him that Kenobi slept with his lightsaber under his pillow. Paranoid bastards. 

The haze of light in the sky hasn’t changed since their return that morning. A thin film of dust covers the equipment and soldiers alike; blotting out their color in the dull background. Clones hide underneath tarps and tents, rifles pointed at the sky and ready to jump at the whistle of a live ordnance. Cody, forever at the ready, adresses the ground division of the Open Circle Fleet over tightbeam assuring them of aerial support. 

Rex knows that up in orbit, Yularen can spare little after the trouncing they received just securing orbit.. He hefts a grenade launcher from a nearby private. 

The General takes up a position on his left and Rex furrows his brow in concentration. The General’s face betrays nothing of his thoughts but his hands are curled around his ‘saber, the blade already ignited. “Shall we, Rex?” 

“Of course, sir.” General Skywalker normally guards Kenobi’s right side; the two swinging and circling each other in a silent arch of light. Rex swears that he won’t disappoint.

The clankers dive upon them with the usual vigor of large numbers and weak brains. Armed with jet packs and repelling cables, they fall from the sky like rain drops crashing against tanks and men alike. Their limbs often break under the strain of their crash into the earth; arms and legs flying off in different directions, their rifles firing automatically in wide arcs. 

And down with them come a haze of fire and explosions in wild abandon. Rex suddenly wishes they’d abandoned camp and left the droids to their scraps. Clones fall under the onslaught, some propelled backwards by the force and other slumped over their rifles, heads in buried in the dirt.

But General Kenobi confidence and decisive action washes over him in calming wave.  His lightsaber parries out in light, flickering strokes, knocking blaster fire off harmlessly into the air. His jaw tightens in a stiff line as he reaches out to knock encroaching droids away or to crush incoming droidekas. 

Rex squints up into the dim gloom and focuses on the faint outline of one of the smaller transporters. He aims for a protruding engine to force the ship off course and out over the perimeter. No need to bring it down on their heads.

He stumbles back at the force of the launch; Kenobi’s presence at his back. “Good shot, Anakin!” The jedi calls out over the blaster fire. 

Rex chucks the launcher to the ground and pulls out his pistols. He grits his teeth and curses Skywalker. 

All battles run the same for a clone. Rex loses track of how long they’ve been firing. He loses track of how many times he’s called for a medic after checking some shiney’s vitals. He’s forgot how many times a Jedi has ripped his own legs out from under him as a blaster fires over his head. 

All the tactics and plans and escape routes collide together in his mind. The planet’s name is lost; overcome by the more base part of his brain. He see’s Cody in every clone face that looks up from the ground, head bent at angle. And every battle, he prays that he isn’t next. He hates himself for his weakness. The taste of pain coats his tongue despite the filter of his helmet.

His tightbeam lights up with chatter just after he discards his pistols and plunders a rifle from a nearby clone. Count Dooku spotted just outside the command module. The General’s head swivels over to the flashes of red flickering in between the tents. 

“Rex, you have your orders.” He’s gone with a Force-assisted jump before Rex can acknowledge. 

He feels a rush of shame crackle through him; a clone isn’t meant for a ‘saber duel; there is little he can do.. He prays again for General Skywalker’s influence and his understanding. 

The rush of air from the cannon fire brings him back to his senses. Cody is yelling orders over the tightbeam. “Concentrate fire on the ground. Push them back against the mountain. And I want those fires out!” 

Rex crouches behind a toppled tank and raises his arms to shield his face from a wave of dirt as his former position erupts with shell fire. “501st, report” he hollers over his radio. His suit informs him succinctly that his heart rate is growing rapidly. He dismisses the update. 

“Fives reporting. Captain, we’re pinned down behind the forward turret. We’ve got three droidekas and a handful of super battle droids on our position. Backup requested.”

Rex grimaces. “Understood, continue suppression fire. Dogma, Tup, what’s your position?” He peaks his head around the tank and fires a shot. The droid goes down, decapitated. 

“Tup reporting, sir. Close to the forward turret, sir. Moving into position to assist Fives now.”

A body slams into the tank next to him with a blast of earth. The clone is filthy and slathered with mud, but unharmed. “Sir,” Jesse says. His voice modulator does nothing to indicate his frustration with the situation but Rex can see it his hands; they grab at the ground and yank at his armored collar. 

“Section 295 under control. Commencing final sweep now,” says a clone over the tightbeam. Rex and Jesse glance at each other. 

“Clean up time,” Jesse says. But he only shifts with his back to the tank. His chest armor under his right arm is smashed through and his undersuit is dark with liquid. 

“Medical team to my position,” Rex says. “Blunt trauma.” Kix radios the affirmative. Rex knows it will be too long. He fixes Jesse’s arms so they cradle his rifle, finger on the trigger. “Shoot in the head,” he says. 

The camp rings with blaster fire but the vocal activity picks up over his helmet. “Cut the chatter,” he orders, “Deal with those clankers first and then you can all sing each other to sleep tonight if you want.” A few snickers rattle through before they can switch off. 

He stands and skirts around the tank to the next covered position on his way to the base of the mountain. “General Kenobi,” he says over his wrist comm, “come in.” There is no response but he does not expect one. General Skywalker would swear that Kenobi ignored him on purpose. But even a clone watching the two of them would know it to be a lie of desperation. He fires into a group of droids catching two in the arms before diving around support vehicle. 

He tries the comm again none the less. 

Behind the mess tent, he hears the crackle and hiss of lightsabers. He remembers the first time General Shaak Ti slashed through a training droid on Kamino in front of him; how the heat of the blade seared through the metal and melted the circuits in a shower of sparks. He remembers the feeling of awe and amazement. Now the sound brings only memories of pain. Rex reaches down and fingers the clip on his grenade. 

Dooku’s stiff accent carries past the cloth tent in a predictable flow of dangerous promises, scathing comments and form criticisms. They are standing a clearing scattered with rubble and metal scraps, ‘sabers held loosely. “The boy was your better, wasn’t he, Kenobi? It is heartwarming when the apprentice bests the Master.” His slow and deliberate cadence irritates Rex like a stinging bug in his sleeping bunk.

The General’s face is smeared with dirt and soot and he holds his left arm against his waist. His back bows forward and Rex knows his patches have opened up again. His nose drips with blood. “I am proud of him, yes. As I’m sure you were proud of Master Qui-gon when he became a Knight.” 

Dooku chuckles and lightly dusts off his dark tunic with leather wrapped hands. The General makes no move to tidy his own filthy robes. “Yes, I was proud. Proud of the Padawan I had helped grow into a successful Jedi.” He lowers his hand again. “But then I became ashamed of what the Jedi had become. Slothful puppets of the Senate, abandoning the Force to their own corrupt Code. Forsaking their brethren for the moral high ground. Disgusting slugs.”

Kenobi winces as the spew of hate and takes a step back. His knees wobble.

“I knew there could be no answer in the dogmatic tripe of the Code. No emotion. No passion. No death. These are the words of a naive fool. A foolhardy vision of an impossible future.” He steps forward towards the General, brandishing his red blade. “A future that cannot exist if the Republic exists. You know the corruption that fills its halls with an incurable infection. A festering plague hanging over its citizen’s heads.” He steps forward again and the General’s back touches upon a stack of crates behind him. Kenobi’s face ripples with suppressed pain. 

“The only cure is fire, Knight Kenobi. A fire in the very foundation of the Republic.”

Kenobi shakes his head, “You’re talking about totalitarianism. About the deconstruction of democracy.” The tip of his lightsaber drags in the dirt.

“I’m talking about Emotion, yet peace, Kenobi. About reforming the Order. About the Chosen One bringing balance to the Force.”

This spurs the General out of his lethargic slump. “Knight Skywalker means nothing to you, Dooku!” Spit flies from his lips as one knee gives out. He falls to the filthy ground in ragged pile. 

The Count laughs and moves his weight to one foot. He clips his lightsaber hilt to his buckle and folds his hands behind his back. “To me, yes, he is little if insignificant. But it must be dreadful for him to be away from your side. You stumble without him. If I didn’t know better, I would think that General Kenobi was attached and dependant.”

Rex presses against the tent, his stomach in his throat. He fingers the grenade clip again. 

General Kenobi looks up at the towering Separatist with an angry snarl. His teeth gleam with saliva in the dull light and his free hand fumbles at the ground. He raises his lightsaber to point up at Dooku. “You stay away from him.” 

Dooku chuckles again and holds out his hand, clenching at an invisible throat in the air. Kenobi’s back arches as he claws at his neck, his saber falling to ground and deactivating with a thump. 

Rex grabs at flash-bang instead of the grenade; they’re too close for an explosion. He steps out from around the tent and fires a blaster round straight at the Count’s head, chucking the flash-bang through the air directly after. 

He isn’t surprised when the Force-user turns to deflect the shot, his red ‘saber swinging out in flick of his wrist. He remembers General Skywalker talking about warnings from the Force and sinking feeling he would get in his gut right before something bad would happen. But Dooku isn’t fast enough to shield his eyes and his ears at the explosion of light and sound as stun grenade detonates. 

Dooku hollars in a brief shock of anger and drops his connection with Kenobi in his distraction. Rex rushes forward and hauls the General to his feet. The man’s eyes squeeze shut in pain and his hands tighten around Rex’s armor for steady footing. “Steady, General” he murmurs into the din as they run, tripping over their own feet, from the clearing.

He accesses the tightbeam and pulls up his holo-display of the camp’s topography, “Captain Rex, reporting. Commander, Count Dooku’s current location is sector 5614. Request permission for full fire on site.” 

The General stumbles next to him and he hauls the smaller man up again, dodging behind crates and tents. He stops for a moment to avoid a droid stumbling by without head and surges past as soon as the clanker steps past them. Dust swirls up in their wake. 

“Accepted, Rex. Gunners, fire at ready on section 5614 now.” 

Some of guns must have been lost in the battle as the barrage lasts less than a moment. Rex hurls Kenobi to the ground and crawls over him, hoping they made it far enough away from the blast site. 

The hot fire on his back triggers his armor’s internal cooling system and the chemical flood through his suit cools his skin and his nerves. Kenobi groans beneath him, the back of his light tunic is stained with blood; his face half buried in the dirt. 

“Barrage complete. Anything that was gonna die in there is already dead,” Cody says. His voice tightens over the connection. “Rex, report.”

“General Kenobi is harmed but conscious. Requesting medical assistance.”

“Understood. Remain at your current position,” he says. Then, “I want sweeps from the rest of you. Make sure these buckets of rusty bolts are decommissioned. Squad leaders, report to me directly in section 81. I want a full head count by o’three hundred hours.”

A chorus of affirmation sound over the tight-beam and Rex slouches onto the ground next to the Jedi. 


	6. In the Sun

“I dream a lot here,” Anakin says, leaning back into the soft grass. He reaches off to his side and plucks at the green blades. “Sometimes about things I think are happening. With the war too.”

Obi-wan hums his understanding and pulls at his beard. He lounges next to Anakin in the hollow underneath a leafy, sprawling tree. The sun filters down through the foliage and freckles across Anakin’s face. “You haven’t mentioned that before.”

“Haven’t really thought about it before. But something you said made me remember. When you mentioned Padme’s bill. I saw her propose it on the Senate floor a few nights ago.”

“Oh, well yes. The planning commision elected her as the lead.” Obi-wan smiles down at Anakin and nudges him with his elbow. “She was clearly thrilled.”

Anakin snickers under his breath and tucks his arms behind his head. “Figures. She likes paperwork I guess.”

Streams of pollen glisten in the golden sunlight as the particles float through the air on whisps of a light breeze. As usual, the only sounds come from their own mouths and the whistle of wind through the crags. The ground shows new craters from the night before when sporadic lightning uprooted the very earth into the sky with fiery explosions. But the craters are already encompassed in velvety tuffs of dewy grass and precious piles of flat heart-shaped leaves that grow low to the ground. Scattered around them are flowering bushes in all the colors of the cosmos; twisted with plump and juicy fruits. 

Obi-wan’s nose wrinkles with the heavy floral scents saturating the meadow.

“Are you still sleeping in the Keep?” he asks.

Anakin nods as he stares off at the sky. “Most of the time. Sometimes I sleep out here.”

“I thought you said the nights are rather dangerous?”

Anakin shrugs and sits up. He crosses his legs in the grass. “I suppose. The storms don’t seem to bother me though. I think the planet knows.” His body folds towards Obi-wan. The dark robes he normally wears cover his shoulders, but he has removed the ceremonial outer robe. His tan writs lie exposed under the shorter hem of the under tunic. With the outer robe gone, his arms move freely under clinging fabric. Anakin’s boots lay off to the side, his socks crumpled into balls and shoved inside. 

Obi-wan suddenly feels over dressed in his full Jedi regalia in the heat of the sun. 

Anakin wiggles his toes. “How’s your back?”

“Recovering. Kix declared me ready for active duty some time ago.”

Anakin frowns. “I thought you reopened it when you fought with Dooku?”

Obi-wan cocks his head. “Well yes, I did. But that was weeks ago.”

Anakin looks at the ground and reaches for the grass again. He twists the blades around his fingers and tugs. His eyebrows are furrowed; eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot.”

Silence had always been common between them. Beyond their outward displays of meaningless bickering, much of the time they spent in the field as a team had been moments of extreme activity punctuating otherwise dull stretches of quiet companionship. Of course, that life disappeared with the bombing of Senator Amidala’s envoy. But he finds he still enjoys the comfort now. He doesn’t need  words to reach out and brush his mind again Anakin’s. 

Obi-wan picks a tangle of dried grass off of Anakin’s robes. “I’m sure you know that Rex has been inquiring about you. He and Cody do well together but I get the impression that the 212th’s precant for standard procedures and protocol frustrates him.”

He expects Anakin to at least acknowledge the statement. Many of his visits over the past months have been involved detailed descriptions of mess hall antics and socially unacceptable tales from 79’s. Obi-wan had rushed to integrate the 501st into his Attack Battalion so they wouldn't be split up to other Jedi Generals. He knew it would be Anakin’s chief concern out of the field. 

“Anakin?” he asks laying his hand fully on the man’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?” 

The younger Jedi’s body is stiff with tension under his hand. His fingers wrap around the blades grass, digging into the dirt, his knuckles white around the bones.. Flared out and white with exertion, his bare toes spread open in a painful looking dislocation. 

“Anakin,” he questions again, his heart pounding. “What’s wrong?”

Anakin’s back arches up in the pantomime of orgasmic bliss. But his face had been twists with pain; his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open and teeth snapping. Saliva wells up in in his gums and slides out and  down his cheeks like tears. His legs thrash, straightening and contorting underneath his bent back. His muscles and tendons had crack and stretch in the unnatural flex.

“Anakin?” he says again, shaking his at his shoulder. “Aanakin!”

Obi-wan’s chest fills with fear. With shuddering breaths, he whispers in Anakin’s ear, overwhelmed at the sudden reaction. He grabs at the Force, desperate for guidance. But his heart grows cold and fearful at the emptiness he finds. His pleas become more desperate and strained. “Anakin, padawan. Please. Tell me what to do-”

He holds Anakin to the ground in order to stop him from injuring himself further and clamps his hands around the taller Jedi’s writs, sitting directly on his pelvis to lessen his thrashing. Anakin’s heels scrape at the dirt as if he is trying to push the weight off.  

Then, with a harsh gurgle and a sigh of breath, Anakin’s body slumps like an empty shell to the ground, his arms and legs askew underneath him. 

“Anakin, wake up,” he push a bit of the Force into his words as a command.But his attempt is wiped clean, Anakin's mind too blank to accept the order. 

Obi-wan leans up over top of his face whispering nonsense. His own arms feel rubbery and weak and he  tastes blood on his tongue where he bit his lip in the tussle. Anakin’s sudden emotions crash against his mind in a torrent of distorted pain and fear.

He brushes a curl of hair away from Anakin’s face and concentrates on filling the Force around them with calming thoughts and intentions. Obi-wan brings his hand to rest on Anakin’s knee and swirls his thumb in small circles. He peers around at Anakin’s face and slides his hand up and down his back. 

“Come back to me.” The edge of the younger Jedi’s spine feels sharp and contorted under his palm; his back muscles flexing and straining. 

With a rush of breath, Anakin’s body jerks forward. The tension in his fades as he shakes his chin. The tips of his ears are red. He releases his grip on the ground and flexes his toes. Obi-wan slides off him and onto the ground. But he can’t fully pull away. He swallows his surprise and fear down but 

After a moment, Anakin sits up. He glances down at the hand on his knee. “Obi-wan, I think…” he trails off but raises his arms above his head in a long stretch. “I think we should go for a walk.”

He stands immediately and smiles down at the older Jedi on the ground. The skin around his eyes crinkles with his wide grin. He rests his flesh hand on his hip and offers his metal one to Obi-wan. “Come on, old man. Let’s see how well the Chosen One can pound you into the ground.”

Obi-wan feels thrown, his thoughts spinning in surprise. “Are you alright?” he says, staring up at Anakin from the grass.

“Hmm?” Anakin asks, tilting his head. “I’m fine.”

Obi-wan’s eyes narrow, his brow furrowed. His hands feel bloodless even though his pulse beats rapidly in his wrists. He reaches out to the Force to ground himself but it slips away from him. Does Anakin not realise? 

“A spar?” He says, wetting his lips. His throat is dry and parched. “That hardly counts as a walk,” he says. His words fall from his mouth in a mumbled mess. He reaches up to clasp Anakin’s hand and pulls himself to his feet. “Are you positive that you’re feeling well?”

Anakin frowns at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

Obi-wan swallows down his answer. He doesn’t want to alarm his friend. He’ll talk to a Healer at the Temple first. Anakin had never had any seizures before. 

“Just a bit of a sore body. Rex insisted that I run drills with him a few days ago. I think it's catching up with me,” he says, instead hoping to draw Anakin’s attention a different direction.

“Getting out of shape without me to keep you in line?” Anakin says. He gives Obi-wan’s body an exaggerated look up and down. “I don’t think you’re getting any fatter.”

Obi-wan smooths his robes and dusts of his backside. His nose wrinkles up. “Oh course not, you heathen.”

Anakin laughs again, tipping his head back and exposing the long line of his throat. Obi-wan’s gaze wanders down to the hard jut of Anakin’s collar bone. He folds his arms across his chest. With the temperature slowly rising throughout the day, they are both covered in a sheen of sweat. This close to Anakin, Obi-wan smells the faint musk of salty skin. 

But the image is tainted by the rough memory of Anakin’s strained breath a moment ago. 

Anakin stretches out his arms again. “Come on, let’s go.” He starts off down the small slope. “I had a dream you were training in Jar’Kai and I need to see if it's true.” 

Obi-wan follows him with a huff. “And what else have you seen in these dreams of yours, exactly?” He falls into place by Anakin’s side and Anakin slows his pace a bit so Obi-wan can keep up with his longer stride. They wade through taller flowering bushes on path packed with yellow sand. He keeps an eye on Anakin’s back, searching for any lingering traces of the fit. 

“You know, stuff,” he says, reaching out as they walk to pluck a delicate yellow bud. He spins the stem between his mechanical fingers which flings the bloom around in a spin of color. 

“Anakin,” Obi-wan says. He lays a hand on Anakin’s forearm to halt their movement forward. His fingertips slide along the cold metal casing and dip into the wiring canals along the wrist. “The last time you talked about dreams…” His voice sounds too loud among the rustling leaves. 

Anakin stares down at the flower; his mouth set in a firm line. For a moment Obi-wan fears he has been overcome again. 

“Later, Obi-wan. I promise.”

Obi-wan smiles at him, a sad tug in his heart. “Of course, dear one.” 

Anakin’s cheeks redden at the endearment. 

Obi-wan searches for what to say. He wants Anakin to be happy with his choice of staying on Morits. Anakin needs to know that he chose the right path. The galaxy needs the Force to be balanced if they’ve ever going to win this war against this Sith puppeteer. 

But Obi-wan thinks back to Anakin’s twisted body and his chest tightens. His tongue feels like it's slipping down the back of his throat, strangling him in his silence. He opens his mouth to push a confession into the air. 

But he says instead, “You’re correct, you know. I have been doing a bit of Jar’Kai practice. Perhaps you’d like to witness my miniscule progress. Cody isn’t much of a sparring partner after all.”


	7. Tart

The balm of the soft light of the Jedi Temple settles his nerves as much as his roving thoughts. Although, the comfort has grown less effective as more and more Jedi stray from its halls. The war draws them away in greater numbers and with more frequency than ever before. His recent meeting with the Council only confirms his intuition that the Republic is struggling under the weight of so much uncertainty. 

His time spent between the glowing stacks in the archives are filled less with scanning the database for interesting holo-films about first contact with foreign systems and more about reviewing weapons reports and cataloguing staffing needs. He misses the times when Anakin would pester him with a full mouth and Master Nu would scold them and banish them back into the halls.

He smiles to himself at the memory.

“Looking rested today, you are, Knight Obi-wan,” says Yoda from his side. His walking stick taps on the marble floor in a soothing and rhythmic pattern as they stroll along. Yoda had insisted walking with him when they met in the lift by-chance.

“Yes Master, I’m headed to see Dex. It's been some time since I’ve spoken with him.” He reaches up to pull on his beard, his wide cloak sleeve falling down around his elbow. “And it's been an especially long time since our meeting was purely for pleasure.” He pauses to add with a thoughtful tilt to his head. “Well, mostly pleasure. But I admit that I am looking forward to seeing him.”

Yoda hums as his ears wiggle at the tips. He jabs one of his short and squat fingers out at his words. “Do well to keep strong ties with your friends, you do, yes.”

Obi-wan hides his smile in his beard. “Yes Master. Dex is an old friend. Although, I must admit that his information is sweetened by the skill of his cooking.”

Sunlight passes over and across Yoda’s face as they pass by one of the magnificent windows in the main hall. “Long lives they have, Besalisks. Friends with Qui-Gon, Dex was.”

“Yes, of course my Master was the one who introduced us,” Obi-wan says. “And I, of course, have taken Anakin there many times.”

Yoda slows his pace, trailing off behind the taller Jedi. Obi-wan turns to face him, eyebrows drawn. “Is something the matter, Master Yoda?”

“Worry about this war, the Council does.” 

Obi-wan nods knowing Yoda often circumvents the object of his conversation. 

“Clouded, the future is. Difficult times, these are.” He stares down at the floor for a moment before looking up at Obi-wan. “Easy to forsake the code, it is, in war.”

Obi-wan’s neutral face sours into a frown. All too distinctly, he can hear the whisper of the Jedi standing in shadowed coves and feel their eyes on his back. He grits his teeth. Internally, he condemns their judgment but he keeps his voice level as he stares down at the small Grand Master. “It is, Master Yoda.”

Yoda purses his thin lips together and rises up on his feet under his loose robe. In the bright light, his lightsaber flashes at his hip for a moment. “Take warning, you should, Young Kenobi. Train yourself, you must, to let go of everything you fear to loose.”

Obi-wan clenches his firsts inside his wide sleeves to stop from lashing out. He inhales through his nose and releases his anger to the Force. It drifts away from him on a river of sunlight. He exhales through his mouth as Yoda continues. 

“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” The Master strikes his walking stick against the floor. “Fear is the path to the Dark Side.”

Qui-Gon might have nodded in agreement. And certainly Padawan Kenobi would have felt chastened at the reprimand and a whole-hearted eagerness to set things right. But Knight Kenobi, a General in the Grand Army of the Republic and Master to Anakin Skywalker feels only frustration and the thin festering ache of spite. 

“Of course, Master Yoda,” he says mildly. His memories spiral back to times on the battlefield with his hands on Anakin’s bleeding body. To the sharp jab of fear at the possibility that this could be his last chance to press their foreheads together. His last chance to hear the sound of Anakin’s voice or feel his passion in the Force.

Memories drag him back to times spent in the quiet of his room, droid parts scattered across the thick sleeping mat. He can picture Anakin’s face as he looks up from his screwdriver, his lips red and bitten in concentration, to hassle Obi-wan about the horrid state of his tool kit. He had forgotten to bring his own, of course. 

“I sense much fear in you.” Yoda interrupts. 

Obi-wan straightens his shoulders from where he had been slumped over. He runs the tips of his fingers across the cool cylinder of his lightsaber. His chest tightens and he tastes a sour sneer of anger on his tongue. He ignores it.

Bending at the waist, he formally bows to the senior Jedi. “If you’ll excuse me, Master Yoda, my transport awaits.”

Yoda says nothing at his back as he turns to leave.

 

*******

 

It's still a bit early in the day for the lunch crowd at Dex’s when Obi-wan arrives. Despite the massive population on Coruscant, most of the small-time business still choose to run on a normal cycle. Those who want a fast meal with little sentient interaction are encouraged to eat elsewhere. Dex doesn’t like complainers. 

“Rumor has it that you’ve been taking trips between battles.”

Dex himself is stuffed into the high-backed booth opposite Obi-wan at the table. His arms both tucked underneath the surface of the tabletop and fiddling with the condiment containers adorning the top; his wattle jiggling when he speaks. He reaches of with one hand to scratch at his soiled white shirt. Stains from oil and seasoning are splattered across his chest like a star chart. 

“If it's a rumor you’ve heard, my friend, than there must be a shred of truth to it.” The Jedi offers him a smile but it lacks his usual, uncomplicated joy. The last few times they’ve met over hot drinks, even with War on their minds, Obi-wan had mustered some happiness at talk of old stories and juicy gossip. 

“There have been some ripples in the Force, I’m afraid,” Obi-wan continues. “They’ve been… well, confusing to read, to say the least.”

“You know I don’t know nothing about your Jedi Force nonsense, old friend,” Dex says. But he leans over the table and winks at the blonde human. “But I’m awful good at talking about matters of the heart, ya’ know. Been counseling young folk for years after they get stood up or some other sad story.”

Obi-wan’s cheeks redden and he chuckles quietly. “Really Dex, I hardly need your romantic advice. The Force isn’t a matchmaker.”

“Hmm,” Dex says leaning back again in his wide seat. “That’s not what it sound like when you Jedi are waxing about it ‘subtle flow’ or ‘mysterious push’ or any of that. Sounds like romance to me.”

The human looks down at his cup. “Well, I suppose that to anyone else, our language could insinuate such an idea. Perhaps the Jedi do have an affair of sorts with the Force.” He looks up and cocks his head to the side, a genuine smile washing over his face. “It does call to me often in the night with sweet nothings and gentle promises.”

Dex bares his teeth when he grins back, happy to have caught the scent of Obi-wan’s playful banter. “But nothing about hot nights under the stars? A little romp in the shuttle bay?”

Obi-wan shrugs, “Not for me. Although,” he leans closer and adds in a dry whisper, “I have heard that after a meditation session, Master Windu spends an obscene amount of time in the ‘fresher.”

Dex’s wattle puffs out as he laughs again, his eyes squeezing shut with mirth. Obi-wan sits back in his seat, a pleased expression looking at home on his face. 

“Now there’s something for the history books: Jedi Councilman Mace Windu, Lover of the Force.”

“May it always be with him,” Obi-wan adds.

“May it always be with him,” Dex echoes. 

Obi-wan smiles down at his cup again and Dex takes a moment to refill it for him from the carafe next to his elbow. The booth in the back corner erupts with laughter. 

“I admit that I’m not just here for a social call.”

“You Jedi never are,” Dex says. But, if he is honest with himself, he rather enjoys the diversions the Jedi bring to his welcome mat. “What kind of problem do you have for me this time?”

“A chip. Something my best slicer can’t make anything of.” He slides a pouch across the table for Dex to tuck into one of his fists. “Found it in a data archive on a recent campaign. The rest was useful but easy to decode. This, on the other hand, has been more of a pain.”

Dex hums as he contemplates. “I’ll see what I can do, little Kenobi.” He grins again.

“But in the meantime, we need to get some meat on your bones!” He leans over into the aisle. “Beena! Bring me some of that tart I whipped up this morning. Steaming hot mind you.”

Obi-wan looks happy when he glances back. “Tart okay with you, Jedi?”

“Yes, Dex. That would be lovely.” 


	8. Dreams of Another Sort

When the transport touches down the planet’s surface, Obi-wan’s thoughts are clouded. His ship depressurizes causing a cloud of dry dirt to plume up across his cockpit and his hands tighten around the controls. “Landing compete,” he tells the ship’s log.

Mortis is as unchanged as it was on his last few visits. The plant life hums with the Living Force; always vivacious and spoiled with energy. But as he walks along, the setting sun filters down behind the mountain peaks and the plants begin their rotational shift into glowing veins of phosphorescent light. The branches of the trees illuminate his path while the shrubs and willowy stalks that line the trail sway in the light breeze. He hears the distant sound of thunder and hastens his steps.

He always finds Anakin easily after arriving. Time after time, his navi computer shuts down upon landing forcing him to pilot the ship manually. Unlike the first time, when they had settled in the clifts, subsequent visits have allowed Obi-wan to land gracefully in the nearby fields or among small corpses of saplings.

His mind immediately reaches out for Anakin. He is always close by.

Twice now, the Daughter has escorted him on his short journey. She seems curious about his presence and his person. She asks about his clothing and his beard. She sits in the tall grasses near the edge of the lake when they dive in the water. Her hand rests atop her breast as Obi-wan tells stories of their latest battles. She cries afterwards when they speak of the dead.

Sometimes the Son joins them, though he is never so openly enthralled by their presence. He laughs at his sister’s tears calling her weak and naive. And he snaps at their ‘sabers when they practice in an empty glenn. Obi-wan can feel him watching them when Anakin gasps and struggles in his contortions. They haven’t stopped despite all of Obi-wan’s careful research.

And instead of the Daughter joining him with her sweet words and patient presence, it is the Son who accompanies him through the night storm. Rain pelts down on their heads in a torrent so strong it could wash away a Walker on loose ground. Obi-wan’s boots sink in the mire up past in ankles as he slogs along what is left of the path. The brittle smell of charred ozone and putrid rot fills his nose. He holds up the hood of cloak but it does little to keep him dry. The wind screeches by, flipping his robe out behind him and flinging more water down the back of his legs.

The Son stepps lightly beside him, his feet slipping gracefully over the ground as if he weighs little more than a scrap of fabric. And while the wind whips at his black robes, he appears unaffected by the stinging rain and gusting winds.

A bolt of lightning hits a tree nearby and sends it up into a violent burst of flames before the rain and wind snuff it out.

“Lovely night, isn't it, Jedi,” the Son says. He looks down his pale nose at the struggling man.

“From a certain point of view, yes, I believe it is,” Obi-wan says. He grits his teeth and wipes the rain from his eyes.

“I believe that you will find that Young Anakin isn’t very talkative tonight. He seems to be quite under the weather, if you will.”

Obi-wan keeps walking even though his heart clenches. “I would still desire to see him, of course.”

“Oh course,” the Son acknowledges.

“And speak with the Father if he is available.”

The Son lips twitch into what might be called a smile. His teeth flash in the night with the next burst of lightning. “I fear that might be even more difficult to arrange. You see, my Father passed away some time ago. Its funny that no one thought to mention this to you.”

Obi-wan stops, staring ahead that the horizon in front of him. “Gone,” he whispers. The rain thunders down on his head, seeping in through his hood and wetting his hair to the root. “The Father, dead?”

The Son rolls his eyes and gestures out with his long arms. “I remember him telling you that he was old and weak. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed.” He turns to face away from Obi-wan. “My sister grieves, of course. But it matters not to me.”

He raises up his arms as lightning crashes down on them. With a crack, electricity unfurls across the pale man’s body and flows into the ground. His skin streams where the rain strikes. A fine haze of smoke rises up from his hands.

He turns back to Obi-wan; his eyes lit a blood-red in the wake of his show of power. “It matters not to me.”

A physical chill pases over Obi-wan’s own skin that is not a reaction to the cold rain. The Force is quiet. He clears his throat. “Shall we?” He motions to the path with one dripping hand. “I’d rather like to get out of this rain if you don’t mind.”

The Son sneers at him but starts off again with a flare of robes. Obi-wan follows silently.

But the Son is correct about Anakin. He sits in the mouth of a cave, his face looking out over the hellish landscape. Open and bulging, his eyes stare down the sharp cliffside to the rock below. His lashes drip with water and flutter pitifully, never fully closing. His mouth is closed but his jaw clenches and grinds with dull cracks that jolt right up Obi-wan’s spine with every harsh snap. Anakin’s own back is doubled over, curving over his crossed legs and leaving his hands useless in his lap.

Obi-wan sits besides him and runs a wet hand over his face. The skin pebbles with bumps highlighting flushed cheeks and red ears. “How long has be been like this?” He mumbles to himself.

The Son hums over them. He bends at the waist to peer down at Anakin’s form.

Obi-wan ignores him. “Anakin,” he calls running his fingers through the mop of soaked curls. “Anakin, dear one, wake up.”

Anakin’s shoulders look sharp under his thin shirt. He’s lost weight leaving his skin pale and unhealthy. His collar bone cuts across his chest; far more pronounced than months before. Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes and his pale fingers are bony.

A hot rush of anger and shame burns up Obi-wan’s spine. He’s done this. He encouraged this behavior. How can Anakin even stand to look at him? To look him in the eye and smile? His heart squeezes; his emotions bound tight.

In the Force, the bond between Anakin’s mind and the Planet burns like a plasma beam. It sizzles and shrieks with undulating power firmly capturing the Knight in its grasp. Obi-wan feels the light drift of Anakin’s thoughts traveling down the beam and mixing with the Force spiralling out into the very plants and rocks dotting the surface of the planet.

Next to the pair on the ground, contained inside an ordinary rock the size of a fist, Anakin’s impatience with the Code sits with heavy frustration. And there, across the pains from their overlook, a sapling tree, now illuminated with veins of blue light, cradles Anakin’s fond memories of his mother. They sway in the harsh wind, memories jostling together and mixing into one moment of feeling and emotion. And in the very rain splashing down on their faces, Anakin’s devotion to his friends is an delicate constant of nature. Tiny and life-giving individually, but overwhelming in the dark of night.

Obi-wan closes his eyes and cups Anakin’s neck with a firm grip. He slides down that connection, spinning out of control, his breath leaving his body in a vicious blast. His mind cracks with pain and-

“Master?” Anakin asks.

Obi-wan opens his eyes, expecting the sting of cold rain. Instead, Anakin’s face hovers over him backlit by the harsh blue lights of their cockpit. He brings a hand up to his forehead and meets cool and congealed blood. The flickering lights of the spaceport dance outside the window against the backdrop of a thousand glittering systems.   


“Alright there?” Anakin asks. He steps back and falls into his flight chair, strapping his crash netting back around his torso. “You smacked your head on the console. Blacked out for a second.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

“Yeah, ya’ know you always say that. One of these days you’re gonna take a blaster shot to leg from some old spacer and say ‘Oh yes, Anakin dear, just a scratch. Just getting my knee replaced and all. Wait here, let me help you with that crate.’” He raises his voice in a high-pitched, and frankly atrocious, mockery of Obi-wan’s Core accent. “‘Nothing to see here, dear one.’”

“I certainly might be slightly more concerned if my leg blew off.”

Anakin snorts from his seat. He spins to lock into ignition sequence. “Sure.”

Obi-wan ignores his petulant tone and keys in his engine codes. The display flares to life over the dusty command console. “Running diagnostics now. Ready for full engine burn in ten seconds.”

Anakin pulls his head set back over his ears from its casual place around his neck. “All flight systems check. Permission from Station Dock Delta Epsilon for detachment.” He pulls the main thruster lever down. “All systems fire in five, four, three, two.”

Obi-wan reaches out to disengage the docking lock as the ship fires main thrusters and their cargo freighter breaks away from the hulking station. As they float off, the nearby star floats across the cockpit’s main view, illuminating Anakin’s face in a burst of light.

The younger man looks over at Obi-wan and grins. “Shall we, Kenobi?”

“If you would be so kind, Skywalker. I’m ready to be done with this wretched hive of scum and villany.”

Anakin laughs and twists the throttle yoke to send them out past the station. “If you please, His-Most-Civilized. Shall I plot a course to stuck-up Alderaan? Or would you perhaps prefer mid-day tea with the Chancellor himself?”

Obi-wan smiles and reaches out across the gap between their flight consoles to Anakin’s knee for a moment before resting it back on his controls. Through the thin fabric of his pants, Anakin’s skin hums with warmth.

“The Chancellor it is then!” Anakin  exclaims. The control coordinates light up and flash across the screen as he calculates their jump parameters. “I’m sure he’ll be excited to see us.”

“Oh course. I’ll give him a call directly. Let me just look up his personal comm in my diary.” Obi-wan rubs his beard and narrows his eyes in fake consideration. “I have been meaning to consult with him on some matters of state regarding the Outer Rim. Do you think he’d be open to a marriage with the Hutts? They could really use a fresh set of eyes; their plans for turning Nal Hutta into a resort planet is misguided at best.”

Anakin blanches as his fingers fly across the controls. “Jump in three, two.” Lifting up his arm, he tugs down the hyperdrive conduit and the window explodes with a flare of white light.

“Well, if you’re going to be going all the way, I want a backstage pass to his office couch. Bet it's made out of some sort of extinct species.” He unclips his webbing as Obi-wan does the same.

The older man chuckles as Anakin’s hand slides up his thigh to pull Obi-wan over to his seat. He comes willingly, straddling the taller man’s lap and fisting his hands in Anakin’s curls. He leans down to touch their lips together with a smile. “And why, pray tell dear one, are you so interested in the Chancellor's couch?”

Anakin sidles his hands down Obi-wan's back to pull him in closer. He slips his fingers under Obi-wan’s light shirt to tickle at the sensitive skin over his hip bones. They both sigh through another lazy kiss. “‘Wanna have you on it, clearly.”

Obi-wan’s face flares with heat and he ducks his head into Anakin’s neck, tasting his salty skin. He smells like engine oil. “Would the Chancellor himself be present for such a display.”

“Of course not!” Anakin says, pushing him back so they can lock eyes. “Have you seen him, Master? He’s a withered sack of bantha poodoo.”

Obi-wan freezes with his hands cupping Anakin’s neck. “What?” he asks. His heart throbs in his chest. “What did you call me?”

“What?” Anakin cocks his head. “I didn’t call you anything.” He grins again and bites his lip. “But if you want, I can call you Senator Kenobi when I-”

Obi-wan scrambles back from the flight chair, crashing into the panel and falling to the cockpit floor in a heap. “Anakin,” he says, “something's not right.”

Anakin frowns. “Well yeah, ya’ think? I was just about suck you off and now you’re-”

“A mission, we have a mission.” Obi-wan drips his face into his hands and shakes his head. “We’re supposed to be-”

“Master, there’s no mission.”

Obi-wan’s hands slide away from his chin as he looks up at Anakin above him in the chair. The contours of his face are starkly highlighted by the cold blue light of hyperspace. His loose black shirt is rumbled from Obi-wan’s wandering hands and a red spot blooms on his chest.

“Anakin, I-”

Obi-wan opens his eyes to the dim darkness of Mortis and the angry flash of lightning on the distant horizon. The sun hasn’t yet peaked over the mountain range but the plants’ glow dimms at the encroaching dawn.

He’s laying at the mouth of the cave, the storm of the night since passed over leaving only sopping mud behind. He remembers reaching through the Force to Anakin and then... He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the memories to surface but they slither away from his grasp. Anakin had been there, warm and close. But he can’t remember. He reaches up to grasp at his head, a burning spike of pain shooting through his skull.

“Obi-wan,” Anakin says beside him, his metal hand clutching at his shoulder. “Obi-wan please, karking wake up.”

Obi-wan groans as he rolls to sit up. His face had been planted in the moist ground. “Anakin?” he says. His voice scrapes with the effort.

“Et chu ta, Obi-wan. I thought you’d… shit.” Anakin crouches in front of him and runs his fingers across Obi-wan’s forehead. “Nasty gash you’ve got here. Must've hit a rock on your way down.”

Obi-wan furrows his brow. He doesn’t remember falling.

“Alright there, Master?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a scratch.” He rubs at his forehead, the pain fading.

“Yeah, ya’ know you always say that. One of these days you’re gonna take a blaster shot to leg from some clanker and say ‘Oh yes, Anakin, just a scratch. Just getting my knee replaced and all. Wait here, let me help you with that kata.’” He raises his voice in a high-pitched, and frankly atrocious, mockery of Obi-wan’s Core accent. “‘Nothing to see here,’”

“I certainly might be slightly more concerned if my leg blew off,” he mumbles folding his legs underneath him. He rubs his head again feeling like he’s forgotten something.

Anakin smiles at him even as the light rain runs down his face “Sure, I believe you.”


	9. Interlude: The Council

“Knight Kenobi,” Mace says, leaning back into his Council chair and resting his tablet on his knee, “You have been frequently warned that your noted absences from your station have been in contempt of this Council. You have been issued formal warnings by both the Grand Army of the Republic and the Jedi Council.” He raises an eyebrow at the single occupant standing inside the ring of chairs. “Please state your reasons for this insubordination.”

Kenobi stands straight on the polished floor. Sunlight glints off the surrounding supertall scrappers and magnifies through the sturdy windows to flare out in a riot of color. Even the earthy browns, greys and blacks of the Jedi garb are enlightened by the flolicking light. But the air remains cool as it wafts out from the Temple life support conduits. At this height, proper pressure needs to be controlled as Coruscant’s atmosphere is too light to support most species in the thin air.

Air traffic flashes past the expansive view in a myriad of hulking commodity transports and lithe speeders; every so often, a freighter blunders past rattling the tower with the deep booming hum of the massive engines. In the distance, the Grand Army of the Republic fills Star Destroyers and convoys with troops, gear and attack weapons. A steady string of Corvettes shuttle high ranking military officers up to interplanetary transports and gunships headed for systems on the Outer Rim.

“Knight Kenobi,” Plo-Koon interjects softly, “We are concerned for you. We all know that this behavior began with the re-assignment of your former Padawan Anakin Skywalker.” He tilts his head to the side in consideration. “You know perfectly well that he is with the Force.” he pauses with a wry smile. “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

The Knight bristles at the comment, his back straightening and his fingers turning to fists beneath his sleeves. “Knight Skywalker is in no physical danger from enemies, yes I agree.” He looks around the room. “But he has been attending to this mission for almost two years now and we have yet to see any change of balance in this war. In fact, without his military expertise, we have been losing more battles than winning.

“Masters, the Prophecy of the Chosen One is a hope that my own Master fully believed in. And he fought to have Knight Skywalker join the Jedi Order. But not even the Scholars of the Old Republic could enunciate the real meaning of the prophecy. We have no real knowledge of how balance will be achieved.” He shifted his weight in the circle of chairs.

“I am concerned that Kight Skywalker, if he remains on Mortis, will disappear into the Force entirely. His physical health has begun to decline. As I noted in my last report, he’s lost weight. He’s been suffering from seizures. He doesn’t have access to any medical attention. I can’t see that-”

“To become one with the Force, Knight Skywalker’s true destiny may be,” Yoda says from his perch next to Mace. “Not our job it is to question the Force, only to listen.”

The words Obi-wan wants to say pound in his chest but he dare not speak them. Yoda’s statement is met with a few nodding heads from minds who think of nothing but their own spirituality. Obi-wan’s anger grows in his chest with searing burn. He struggles to mind his throughs.  

“The Force speaks of no such sacrifice.”

“Your feelings and the Force, you confuse Knight Kenobi,” Yoda says; his large ears humming with motion. He thumps his walking stick on his cushion. “Separate them, you must. These thoughts, lead only to fear they will.”

Obi-wan does not grace the comment with a response. He forces his face to remain flat. But his pulse runs quick.

Instead, he questions about his upcoming assignment. “Masters. A mission there is?” It is a testament to his record that they allow his maneuver.

Mace settles back into his chair with the reintroduction of a familiar subject. He lays his hands on the arms rests on his chair. “We have received a communication from Onderon. The central government has come under pressure from the Separatists but have chose to join with them. A local faction has broken off to fight against the occupation without federal backing. They have requested assistance from the Senate.”

“But of course, the Senate does not agree,” Obi-wan says. It is a familiar enough story: governments fall and some brave few fight on.

“Allow Jedi involvement, they do not,” Yoda agrees. He shifts his walking stick in his clawed hands and nods at Mace. “But agreed to send help to the faction, we have.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow and tucks his hands into his sleeves. His fists relax in the familiar talk of politics and strategy.

“You will simply go to train the rebellion. Teach them combat and military tactics.” Plo Koon says. “You will be accompanied by Kit Fitso and his Padawan on their journey back from the Outer Rim.

At the mention of the missing Council Member, Obi-wan allows his pleasure to show on his face. He has last seen his friend in person at the outbreak of the war. Since Geonosis, they had both been assigned appropriate missions befitting one Jedi with a Senior Padawan and one Jedi with a fresh initiate. Anakin had always seemed particularly friendly with Kit’s padawan Ahsoka. They had both held an equal ability to circumvent traditional decorum. He looks forward to seeing them both again.

“This group is dangerously close to acting as a terrorist faction. This is why the Senate chooses not to support them financially. Their attacks on Separatist forces have become more and more violent and have most recently involved civilian bystanders. It is imperative that you distance yourself from these actions and focus on instilling the group with tactics befitting a legitimate opposition. The Senate does not want to associate itself with terrorist groups even if they are fighting against the Separatists.”

Obi-wan nods at Mace’s comments. “I fully understand. I will convene with the Open Circle Fleet before my departure.”

“The details of your rondvue with Master Fitso and his Padawan will be forwarded to General Yularen immediately. This Council expects your full cooperation in this matter. May the Force be with you.”


	10. Interlude: Padme

Obi-wan’s presence in her apartment is a pleasant surprise though not one completely without precedent. C-3P0 clearly bestowed upon him the full regalia of the droid’s ample hospitality and the Jedi is quite surrounded by cups of steaming tea and dainty plates of assorted delicacies. He stands from his seat on the couch as she enters but is trapped from attending to her as he normally would by  a few trays covered in fresh fruits that sit scattered around his seat. 

Padme smiles at his attempt and apologies for her absence. “Nonsense,” he says, “I have come unannounced.”

She can see that he is distraught. He often has been since Anakin’s supposed disappearance. He has come to her apartment repeatedly over the last two years. She would think him attached  if she were a simpleton. However she know that her charms and pleasantries have not drawn him to her conversation. Instead, she teases him lightly and avoids his real reason for calling. 

As usual, she sits opposite him on a comfortable chair with a straight back as C-3P0 brings her a traditional Nubian drink she particularly favors. And like most acquaintances, no matter how close, they discuss the weather for some time before moving on to any vexing, but insubstantial, annoyances of their everyday life. This is the whirl of polite society they have played for many visits now and Padme is wary of breaking from the Jedi’s expectations. Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi is no longer a man worth surprising. 

Padme talks for an adequate length about the new carpeting in the Senate Rotunda that has caused many a government worker to lose their temper over being re-routed due to installation. Obi-wan nods attentively at her story and mentions his own amusing problem with dropping his comm unit into a fountain at the Temple by accident and having to fish it out before a Council meeting. 

But Obi-wan grows somber after his tale and fiddles with the rim of his tea cup. He stares into the dark brown liquid for some time before Padme takes pity on him. 

“That day, years ago after the assassination attempt, I had requested you from the Council, you know. Anakin and I had been exchanging letters for years and I was very glad to be reunited in person. You both have a dear place in my heart.”

Obi-wan doesn’t stir from his place atop her cushions. Instead, his face swivels in her direction. Suddenly, she realizes how plain and dull he looked in the splendor of her rooms. The deep plum of the damask fabric of the settee and the supple fold of the curtains highlight the sour yellow of his robes and the rough spun threads of his cloak. As a girl, she had thought him a heroic gentleman descended from the most wonderful and fanciful tale. Now, as he sits with a straight back and pinched lips, she sees him as he truly is. 

She fumbles for the words that will comfort him. They are not the words she would share with a handmaiden nor the words she would confide with Bail; but a different set. Ones dogmatic and trite enough for even this poor zealot to find solace in.

“I was pleased to see Anakin, of course.” She say. She crosses the room and sits near the Jedi on a small poof. She reaches out to hold his hands before remembering herself and pulling them back to the folds of her gown. Her fingers curl under her wide sleeves. “He is dear to me. As I know he is to you.”

Obi-wan closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in a shuddering suck of air. “Senator, this is hardly-”

“I’m not finished.” She said, her body angling towards him. She speaks faster, partially aware of the stiff, taut line of the Jedi’s shoulder. Her gaze flickers down to his weapon.

“I could see it immediately. The way you were drawn to him. The way he looked at you.”  

Obi-wan’s hand twitches towards his lightsaber and his feet shift on her thick carpeting. “Senator Amidala, I can assure you that Knight Skywalker and I-”

She interrupts his lies with a cut of her hand. “You are what the force made you, Knight Kenobi. And if Anakin Skywalker is to be the Chosen One, then the Force has chosen you to lead him.” She does reach out to him then; moving to the couch by his side and gathering his fists into her cool hands. He jerks at the contact but makes no move to leave. Padme cannot picture Shaak Ti or Mace Windu accepting such comfort. Perhaps Obi-wan is weak after all.

“Obi-wan Kenobi,” she says again. Their shoulders touch and their thighs jostle against each other in the deep sink of the plush couch. “Dear Obi-wan.” He focuses on the floor but his lips tilt down in a sad line. His beard hides the shine on his cheeks well but Padme knows he is shamed. 

The light outside her balcony is red with the setting sun. It reflects of of the Obi-wan’s face and lights his eyes with a deep ember burn. “The Jedi Council will not hear my argument. They insist on Anakin’s actions being the best way for the prophecy to be fulfilled. But yet, we struggle to maintain a hold in his war,” he says. Padme can hear the desperation in the rawness and hitch of his voice. “I am positive that Anakin would not have made such a choice if he knew…” 

Padme can offer no wisdom in such Jedi matters. The Senate floor is rife with disagreement about policy and expectations. But in Jedi business, they hold no sway or opinion. The Chancellor himself is briefed by Master Yoda and Master Windu weekly if not daily. They are fully in charge of military operations within their own ranks. But even before the war, the separation between the Republic and the Jedi held strong. Occasionally a governmental body would request Jedi influence and occasionally the Jedi would request governmental assistance of some form or another. But largely, the two acted incongruently.  

The war, of course, changed the course of the galaxy like sand slipping out from under their soles.

“He was hesitant, of course, about remaining on the planet. But his sense of duty to his cause overrode his scruples.” He speaks quietly now. His hands unfurling in his lap. “But it is my duty as well to-” He quiets

After a moment, he stirs again. “My apologies, Senator. I have trespassed on your company for two long. I am needed at the docks.” 

Padme allows him to stand and bow on his way out. The cold ring of his desperation haunts her apartment long after his departure. 


	11. Break

“It's all about control. You want to roll the grenade hard enough that it reaches underneath the droid, but not too hard that it bounces off its shield.”

Kenobi smiles from his perch on the crumbling wall and Kit grins at him in return. “Pretty good teacher, isn’t she,” Kit says elbowing the other Jedi in the knee. He stands in the shade of the compound while the sky behind Kenobi shimmers in the heat.

“She is indeed,” Kenobi says. His white robes are open at the collar to soak up the cool breeze. “You’ve done well, Master Fitso.”

Kit reaches into the bag at his feet for his water canister. He unscrews the lid and tips it over his head in a single dump. The cool moisture soaks into his robes and beads up on his skin. He sighs in the humidity. “She’s a fast learner and eager to work. Any Master would be proud to train her.”

He looks up at Kenobi through the haze of the warm day. “A Padawan can even help their Master to revisit lessons they had previously forgotten,” he says.

Kenobi’s face flickers with expression for a moment. “Yes, there is no better way to learn than to teach.”

In the space cleared of rubble outside the complex walls, Ahsoka guides the resistance members through the motions of rolling a detonation device underneath a droidekas shield. Maneuvering them into groups, each member tries to recreate her motions on their own test subject. She patiently corrects their swings with each failure.

Onderon’s planetary government had aligned itself with the Separatists years before, but the small group led by Guerra siblings had only just emerged out of its infancy. Kit admires their dedication to the cause. He’s troubled, however, at the lengths that some feel is necessary to free their planet from Dooku’s rule. He wonders if their claim is true; that other citizens of the planet do not recognize the legitimacy of the new political ruler.

Over the past few weeks, they’ve slowly built up a plan to crush the new government. It's not the plan that Kit would have preferred, a little too underhanded for his taste, but it will be effective and result in minimal casualties of both resistance members and citizens. They’ve decided to implement the first stages the following morning.

“Do you feel murmurs in the Force?” Kenobi suddenly asks. He’s staring off into the distance past the practicing rebels. “I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

Kit takes a moment to contemplate his question; reaching out on the tendrils of the Force to seek the source of Kenobi’s apprehension. His path feels clean and clear. The road to success straight and free of any large obstacles. “I admit, Knight Kenobi, that I do not share your concern. The Force is quiet to me.”

Kenobi doesn’t respond and they part ways with few words. The next morning, the Force ushers their disguised group into the city of Iziz with little fanfare. They converge at their base of operations optimistic about the plans.

That night a small group destroys the central power supply with only a slim resistance. Within hours across the city, rebels take out droidekas and battle droids alike as their numbers dwindle due to the inability to recharge. But when the message arrives that the former King is to be executed publicly, the rebels fly into a frenzy of emotion and ill-conceived rescue ideas.

“Please, friends,” Kit says directing the room’s attention to his voice. The windows are covered in a thick cloth and the only light comes from a weak lamp on the center of the large table. “We must trust in the Force to guide our actions. A violent display in front of the city will not aid in your endeavor to win the locals to your side. You must keep your attacks directed at the Separatist droids and not the men underneath the King’s command.”

Steela interjects with support. “Yes, it is because of us that they’ve resorted to using our own soldiers. But they are not the enemy, the Separatists and the acting King are. We need to focus our attention on them.” She looks around the room with a firm face. “We must respond to this challenge with level heads.”

They decide to attend the execution in disguise and interrupt. Kit hopes this public act of rebellion will bring the people to their feet to fight for their freedom. If not, he and Ahsoka will need to leave the rebellion. They are needed elsewhere.

The afternoon of the execution, the rebels gather in the courtyard with the other citizens. The fake King lords over the crowd, boasting about his own paltry accomplishments and spewing insults about the previous establishment. The old, frail former King kneels on the stage, his head lowered.

In his own hooded cloak, Ahsoka by his side, he looks for opportunities in the flow of the Force. The city guards stand at attention in front of the crowd. They present with intimidating force with highly polished armor and oiled weapons. On the stage, their command waits for orders near the King surrounded by an extensive honor guard.

Steela had impressed on the group the importance of safely rescuing the former King without inciting any violence in the crowd. Kit hopes her determination will be enough to win this bloodless battle.

Across the crowd, he can pick out Kenobi with ease through the Force. The other Jedi flares in his vision as a burning fire; a startling difference from when they first worked together before the war. Then, Kenobi had been a wide river of the Force. Calm on the surface, an illusion, with a swift current underneath that could easily drag you under. Skywalker had walked across that river mission after mission.

Kenobi speaks to him over the comm, “I’m in position.”

Steela is watching him, so Kit gives her a nod. They are ready.

As many state functions run, this one begins with an impassioned speech with little substance. The crowd grows uneasy, shifting in the hot sun, as the pomp and circumstance continues. Beside him, Ashoka trails her fingers over her ‘sabers.

“Patience, Padawan. Wait for the Force to guide you,” he says, reminder her of her mission.

“Yes, Master Fisto. I’m just anxious. He could call for the blade to drop at any time and we’re just standing around!”

He can’t disagree with her but he is patient. “We must wait. It is important that they learn to do this one their own.”

Kenobi strays closest to the line of soldiers bracketing the crowd.

“As your King, I present to you Ramsis Dendup. Not as a former King, but as a criminal! Sponsoring terrorist acts against the people of Onderon. s your leader and protector, I can see that he has betrayed you with treason. And today, he will pay for the those deeds with his life.” The King turns to the prisoner.

“It is time,” Kit whispers. Already, he sees the other rebels moving throughout the crowd, closing in on their targets armed with stunners. They wait for Steela’s signal.

On the stage, one of the few remaining Separatist droids push the former King’s head down against the energy barrier.

Kit’s comm beeps twice. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, more to himself. With a wave of action, the rebels in the crowd burst out of their concealment, Kit focuses on his few targets, firing and stunning as many guards as he can. Beside him, Ashoka fires of shots accurately and efficiently. Over top of the crowd, a small contingent lifts Steela up onto their shoulders so she can pick off the Separatist droids with deadly accuracy.

A few members of the crowd scream in shock, but Kit takes comfort in the fact that only a few will be seriously involved.

He stuns a few more guards before vaulting up to the stage. Someone has lit a smoke bomb and his gills strain with the effort of pulling fresh air into his lungs. He dodges a few bright shots from battle droids before switching the blaster off stun. Beside him, Saw fires shot after shot at the brittle droids. They fall to the ground, sparks flying.

In moments, the smoke clears enough to see King Sanjay Rash standing, uninjured. The old King kneels slumped at his feet, his collar strangling him with the force of Rash’s grip.

“No,” Steela breathes from across the stage. She levels her blaster at Rash’s head. “Release him,” she orders. Kit holds his saber steady as Ashoka relaxes into a fully defensive stance.

“Oh, that would make it simple for you, wouldn’t it,” he says, laughing. “I hand over your prize and then...what? You let me continue on as if you haven’t been spreading lies about my legitimacy!”

Steela shakes her head. “Your legitimacy is already under question. But if you surrender now, you will receive a fair trial.” She cocks her weapon again. “Onderon and its people want the Separatists gone.”

The older King struggles in the younger’s grasp, hacking and wheezing at the rough treatment. “Please, it is over. Leave with your lives.”

“That’s not going to happen, your Highness,” Sal yells from his position facing a contingent of soldiers. “You’re coming with us.”

“No, I believe that you are wrong,” Rash says, raising his sidearm to point directly at the old man’s temple. “I will have my kingdom as promised.”

Steela recoils back, a flare of anger from her lighting up the Force in her horror. But underneath her emotions, Kit feels her resolve to stay steady. “There needn’t be any bloodshed this morning. Please.”

Rash shakes his head in a show of patronizing scorn, chucking. “Goodbye, old man,” he says.

Kit thinks for a moment to yank the blaster from his hands, but remembers his duty to the Council. The Senate did not condone the Jedi mission. Word cannot spread that the Jedi supported such an endeavor; even if it is successful or without bloodshed. Such a thing goes against the very basis of the Republic.

Ahsoka yells, her eyes wide, as Rash’s muscles flex to pull the trigger. Kit feels Dendup’s fear as a bitter ache in his mouth. But Rash gasps, a wet choking suck, as a line of blue light explodes from his chest. His sidearm falls to the ground from his limp fingers before the rest of his body slumps over, crumbling over top of the old king.

Kenobi stands behind him, his light saber activated and humming. The courtyard echos with every small shuffle of noise in the sudden quiet.

“Knight Kenobi,” Kit says. He hand drops to his side, his rifle dropping to the ground with a clatter. “What have you done?”


	12. Agency, Thy Name is Obi-wan

The space outside of his shuttle flashes with the cold, silver light of the hyperspace lane. But Obi-wan’s chest thrums with the peaceful satisfaction of his actions. For the first time in months, his heart whispers that his direction is true and just. The feeling up it welling up in his soul calms his apprehension of the future.

He feels no regret in leaving Kit and Ahsoka to their own devices. He knows they are both competent and resourceful. The Council will not leave them languishing too long as Jedi are needed elsewhere in the galaxy. They will send a shuttle to replace the one he took.

His hands tighten around the ship’s controls as the navi-computer beeps the ship's imminent deceleration onto real-space. The irregular planet bursts into sight in an explosion of color and bright light in the dark matte of deep vacuum. The surface haze parts as he descends; and, when the blinding light clears, the crust swims with green and blue signs of vegetal life. He can sense the swirling tornado of the Force rumbling across the landscape with flashes of bright, shocking electrical currents hidden in the dark. It's still far off.

The computer guides the light transport with little input to just outside the breathable atmosphere before the controls shut down and Obi-wan takes up the yoke. He follows the tug of the Force towards the Father’s Monastery. It had been some time since Anakin had met him there and his gut seizes with apprehension.

“Stay in the here and now,” he says to himself. Qui-Gon’s phrase calls his nerves more than it directs his thoughts.

Neither the Son nor the Daughter meet him on the landing pad this visit. The son seems to prefer his own towering monolith and the Daughter spends most of her time in the glades and caverns dotted across the planet’s surface. Anakin said once that he thought he saw the Father’s force ghost wandering the halls. But he’d snickered into his hand afterwards and Obi-wan had been sure that he was taken for a fool.

He finds the throne room of the Monastery empty after he touches down on the landing pad outside. The few other rooms dotting the long hall hold only sleeping pads and thin sheets. His thoughts guide him towards the courtyard.

Obi-wan’s stomach rolls at the sight of it and he tightens his tunic with an absent gesture.

Anakin sits on the floor in the center of round bowl. His body sits straight, but the pinched look on his face tells Obi-wan he isn’t meditating. Obi-wan’s fist tightens around his ‘saber hilt.

He kneels down in front of his former Padawan, tracing his face with his palm. “Anakin,” he says, his voice low. “Are you there?” He reaches out with the Force to brush against Anakin’s mind. His conscious feels like a smooth stone submerged in a river. Obi-wan jerks back before the rush can pull him under.

“Ah, look who it is,” says the Son as he steps out of the shadows. “Where there is Skywalker, you will always find Kenobi not far behind.” He laughs, tipping his head back, arms folded across his chest. “Isn’t it sad, don’t you think, Kenobi, how you follow him like a slobbering mutt. What a legacy to leave.”

Obi-wan’s spins his lightsaber around in a flash, pointing it directly at the Son’s chest although he remains far off. “Stay away from him.”

The Son chuckles again. “Do you see this, Sister. How this moral threatens us? Threatens our Father’s legacy.”

The Daughter steps out behind him. Her brilliance overshadowed for a moment by the dark spread of his vile presence. “The Chosen one must stay here. To bring Balance to the Force. It is how our Father predicted.”

Obi-wan’s patience shreds as if her words had ripped across him as a physical blow. “He must leave. He’s dying. He’s brought Balance to nothing! I care nothing for the prophecy. I’m taking him back to the Temple.”

The Son swings around the two Jedi in circle, keeping his eyes fixed on them. Obi-wan’s blade follows him through the air but his attention divides between the Son and Daughter until they are opposite each other in the wide expanse. In his impatience, he knocks against Anakin’s shoulder with his knee and the Knight’s body slumps to the ground in a sprawling heap; his limbs limp.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan calls again. “Anakin wake up.”

The Daughter narrows her eyes at him. “My Brother hopes to goad you into leaving this planet, Jedi. He wants nothing but imbalance and chaos.”

“I’m hurt, Sister. You say such things about me that this Jedi will think me a monster.”

Obi-wan shifts his legs so he stands overtop Anakin’s body, his lightsaber at the ready.  “We are leaving,” he says. “Let us go in peace.”

In a flurry of the Force, the Daughter shrieks suddenly in her inhuman voice “You will not take him.” She snaps her teeth and twists her jaw with a violent shake her head. A shiver of movement washes across her skin as her body contorts under the strain of its transformation. Obi-wan hears her next words in the Force as her body thrashes and snarls in its monstrous firm. _You cannot take him! He must remain here on the planet!_

The Son tosses his head and a plume of feathers burst out of his neck as the rest of his body flexes into his dark form. He gnashes his rows of serrated teeth at the two small Jedi as this long thin tail trashes behind him.

Obi-wan snaps out at them with a wave of his hand. “Stay away from him! You’ve done your damage. This planet has done its damage. He’s suffering under your neglect!” Anger coils in his nose and chokes him in his desperation. “You can no longer have him.”

The Son shakes his shaggy mane with a roar of the Force. _No matter, Jedi, I will enjoy separating your faces from your skulls._ He grins at them with a mouth of red gums and festering eyes. _And our dear Father is no longer here to stop me._

He crouches down as the Daughter cries out. _No, my Brother, they cannot be harmed!_

The Son ignores her in favor of jumping off into the air in a rush of flexing muscles and a whirlwind of leathery wings. The Daughter meets him in the air, rocketing up with a blast of feathers, she stretches out her talons and grabs onto to his flank; swirling them around in tumble of giant bodies and thrashing claws.

Slamming into the ground, they fall apart form each other and slide across the smooth stone in opposite directions.

Anakin lies on the ground, his eyes closed and his face pale. His body shakes in his loose clothing as his eyes dart back and forth under his red eyelids.

The Daughter shakes her shoulders, feathers flying off into the wind. _You must flee from here. My brother is all that is selfish. He will not allow his prize to live no matter what he promises you. He wants to permanently unbalance the Force._

The Son laughs, a harsh biting sound that cracks and burns. _Ah yes, my selfless sister. Yes, listen to her Jedi. She’ll defend you until her last breath because of her pitiful guilt. What do you think would happen if she were to defend you to the death? Then how would the Force be balanced?_ _Instead, how about a deal. I’ll spare the Chosen One and only kill you, old man. Then, even my sister can’t be too disappointed._

He sneers at them from across the circle. _It is what my Father would have wanted, you know. Do you think he really would have allowed the Chosen One to leave? That if he were alive he would allow you to take him?_

_Brother! Enough!_ The Daughter shrieks, her beak stabs at the air.

The Son flings his massive head back and barks at the sky, puffing out his chest. _Are you listening Father? Your precious daughter is willing to ignore your wishes for the sake of these simpletons. While, I, your son, will not allow such a travesty to occur!_

The Son quiets and bows his head. His body ripples like the water on a pond after a hard rain and slips back into his human form. “You do not deny it Sister. He always preferred you _._ ”

The Daughter takes a step forward and looks up, her transformed human face shining with tears. “My Brother, please. He wished for equal serenity for us both. It is you that chose this path towards the darkside.”

“And it is you who chooses to believe my path is the wrong one!” The Son twists again and his newly formed tail lashes out with a thunderous crack on the ground. _How is there to be Balance when there is only the Light?_

The Daughter follows with her own transformation and howl of betrayal.

“Enough,” Obi-wan says, his anger flaring out with the wave of his arm; too much for him to contain. He glances at Anakin’s body below his feet. “You were in balance before we arrived and you will be after our departure.” A rush of static pleasure slithers up his spine.

A hot spike of rage stabs through his chest. He feels the coil of power beneath his feet, flexing underneath the thin veneer of the planet’s surface. Blood rushes through his veins laced with the momentum of the Force. Anakin’s presence focuses his attention and his anger.

Overhead, the sky darkness in a glamour of twilight. Golden stars dot the black expanse as the wind picks up to a bracing gale. Dust and gravel whip around the courtyard stinging across Obi-wan’s cheeks and hands. Ozone coats his tongue and nose in a sour web.

He reaches out, his arms spread wide, and his fists searching through the Force. His fingers squeeze, feeling the flutter of the beasts’ pulses race beneath his gloves. With a twist, he grabs their necks and pulls them off the ground to dangle in the air.

The rush of the Force through his ears centers him on their straining bodies and short breaths. Their hearts beat uselessly against in fingers. He feels a wash of satisfaction hum through his body in a flush. His face grows hot, saturated with a high of his own power. Had Anakin felt this when they were first here so many months ago? He shivers at the thought.

“The Force existed before your creation and will continue to exist after your bitter end.”

He clenches his hands and feels their nicks snap under the pressure. The limp bodies fall to the ground in a thin cloud of dust and dirt.

The Force crashes down around him in another wave of pleasure. He falls to his knees and onto the ground, his back arching and his legs opening wide. Heat rushes across his skin as a silent lover. He’s hard in his pants and he reaches down to drag his palm over his thighs, throwing his head back at the overwhelming sensations. Sweat mats his hair to his head. He moans in the silence of the yard. “Fuck.”

Anakin’s body warms Obi-wan’s side, his presence in the Force mellowing after the blast of energy. Obi-wan squeezes his eyes shut and breathes in deep enough to that his breath crackles on the exhale. His hands settle on his inner thighs. He lets his head fall back, the energy rushing out of him in a cold slide that feels like it's washing away the scars in his mind. Obi-wan tries to steady his thoughts, gathering them back into his mind in a tight grip.

The darkness overhead brightens to the barest hint of dawn. Light pastels of pink and yellow and purple paint the sky as flourishes of wispy clouds float by on the warm breeze.

Obi-wan staggers up and straightens his robes. The darkness of his actions weigh on his chest in a crushing vice. He looks away from the crumpled bodies with a wet face.

Instead, he gathers Anakin into his arms and folds his limp body against his chest. He’s far too light. Months of living off the Force have made a skeleton out of his body. “Let’s go, dear one,” he mumbles into the Anakin’s curls. “Let’s go.”

Anakin sleeps for the duration of the trip back to Coruscant strapped into the crash webbing in the small shuttle. Obi-wan keeps his thoughts in a cage in the back of his mind.


	13. Waking Up

Pain rushes up his nose and out through his mouth as he sucks in a first breath. Anakin abruptly feels his fingers and toes and ear and the cloth against in his body in one nauseating moment. The blanket across his chest pushes that one breath out and is too heavy to allow him to draw another. He gasps and flounders but his body lies dormant and immovable on the bed.

He opens his mouth to scream but it is parched and dry and his lips crack and bleed under the pressure of movement. His tongue swells in his mouth and slides down the back of his throat to strangle him under its bloated weight. Iron and filth coat the inside of his mouth.

A wild panic fills the air and is almost a tangible scent in his nose. Surprise and elation fill his nostrils with potent pollen and the distant putrid rot of wary fear clogs this throat with sticky pus.

He tries to gaps again past his deaden tongue but his mouth floods with saliva and a thick blot of tangible anticipation.

Anakin jerks at pair of cool hands on his face. They stroke across his damp forehead and pull a line of salty sweat down over his nose and across his lips. His eyelids strain at their seam but are too burdened to crack. His vision is red through the thin skin defending his eyes and he can feel the heat of a lamp spotlighting his face.

The sweat from his face loosens his lips enough to accept the cool water to flood his mouth. The rush lifts his tongue and he sputters at the rush of liquid down the back of his throat. 

Immediately, it surges back out as he vomits and chokes down his chin.

One the second sip, however, he is able to swallow before refusing the cold glass at his lips. His mouth falls open in a pant as stale and flat air fills his lungs with a few deep inhales.

The cloth across his chest burns as he pulls his hands up to touch his face. Sensation of rough fabric and smooth skin burn across his fingertips until he reaches his eyes. Crusty flakes and light hairs build up under his long nails as he pulls the grime from his lids.

“You shouldn’t open your eyes up yet, Knight Skywalker.”

Anakin sucks in a short breath through his nose and almost retches again at the sharp burn of the bile on his own face and the tang of embalming fluid. The voice vibrates in his ears and he clutches at them to lessen the booming sound.

“Be patient.” The attendant wipes a cool cloth across his face and over his mouth. “You’ll need some time to adjust.”

Anakin rubs his flesh hand across his face. “Mmh…th’ light.” His voice vibrates up through his chest and bubbles out his mouth. “The light,” says again just to hear the sound of it. “It’s too bright.”

The glow outside his eyelids fades and cracks one open. The world is blue and bright and so overwhelming that he squeezes his eyes shut again.

“You’ll grow accustomed to the light again, Skywalker, I assure you.” The speaker rustles a tray next to Anakin’s head that sounded like a Starfighter breaking the sound barrier. “But now that you’ve woken up, I believe you need a little more natural rest.”

The prick at his arm fills his body with fire that rushes through his veins. He screams with the pain as his limbs shudder in a tremor before stilling.

But the pain fades instantly and he wakes to a dark room in a fresh gown propped up against a throne of pillows. He blinks down at his hands resting on top of the woolen blanket. His face feels scrubbed and fresh, if a bit flushed, and his nails are picked clean. A tiny flower on the window sill fills the room with the tang of fleshy sweetness. The view of Coruscant beyond the Temple bustles with the flashing lights of untapped intrigue in the dusky sky.

He reaches for the water on the stand next to the bed to wash down his confusion.

It’s not long before a Healer suppresses a shocked gasp in his doorway. Healer Nema sweeps in a moment later armed with a scanner and slight tilt to her lips.

“Knight Skywalker, welcome back to the Temple,” she says striding up to his bed side. Her scanner glows underneath her sharp cheekbones highlighting her face in contrast to the dim glow of the planet from outside.

“Healer Nema,” Anakin says. He watches her run the scanner over his body. Somehow, he expects his voice to be rough but it sounds as it always has. He frowns.

“Your vital signs are all within normal parameters for a human of your age. You have suffered from severe malnutrition and dehydration. But a few rounds of nutrient supplementation and direct injections have taken care of that.” The scanner beeps and she stares at the screen for a moment. “You may feel some lingering effects of the nutritional surge in the form of lethargy and manic depressive emotional surges. These are all to be expected as your body adjusts the severe changes in intake.”

Anakin nods but his brow furrows.

Healer Nema continues as she fiddles with the interveinal injection sites on his arms. “I expect to have you up and walking around within a few days. And totally discharged within the week. The Council has been quite expectant about debriefing you.”

He needs to interrupt her there. Obi-wan would have chided him under his beard. “Clearly something happened, otherwise I wouldn’t be hooked up, but the last thing I remember is being in the shuttle with Obi-wan and…”

He pauses before he reaches his question; memories rising in his thoughts like a bubbles on a fountain.

Healer Nema holds a bucket under his chin as he empties his stomach of hot and sour bile. Hot tears mix with saliva dripping in the thin strand from his lips as he sobs into the stink of his own mess. His raw and scratchy throat sears with sharp pain.

He inhales with a shuddering gasp and rattle deep within his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as pain rips up his neck and gathers in his forehead and a tight mass of tension of pounding adrenaline.

She rubs a hand up and down his back as he collapses face-down into his own lap. His arms clutch the bucket in a vice and she allows him his time before she attempts to pull it from his grasp. In its place she hands him a pillow to bury his face in. Twice, an apprentice Healer stops by the room to check in. Nema waves them away with a neutral face. She perches on the edge of his mattress.

He chokes on his own fear and weakness and his face is red and raw by the time his breath shudders with the last of his sobs. The pillow under his nose is stained yellow and red.

“How long?” he asks. His voice cracks and scratches. “How much have I forgotten?”

Healer Nema is slow to answer. Her anticipation fills the air as she licks her lips. “It's been almost two years, Knight Skywalker.”

He appreciates the honesty but his heart rings with desperation. “Obi-wan. Knight Kenobi. Where is he?”

She sighs and stands from her place next to him. “I believe the Council will brief you about the details.” She gathers up her scanner and the vile bucket.

Anakin’s metal hand is around her wrist before she can step away. He tightens his grip as she jerks in response, his actions are empty in the Force.

He doesn’t look up at her. “Knight Kenobi, tell me.” His face is sallow and the skin under his eyes tinted green and purple with his ordeal. Tracks of tears shine on his cheeks and vomit crusts on the corners of his lips. The dim light of Coruscant's sunrise highlights gaunt pallor of his cheekbones and the harsh angles of his brow.

She purses her lips but his situation compels her. Two years ago, she doubts he would appreciate her sympathy. But now, in this moment of defeat she cannot ignore his humanity. “He’s here. In the Temple. Unharmed.”

He squeezes his eyes and releases her wrist. His relief ripple of relief through the Force hum with the remains of his desperation. She walks to the door and turns to him again. “Knight Skywalker, your feelings betray you.” He looks up at her. “The Council will be in contact.” She closes the door behind her.


	14. Where do Your Loyalties Lie?

Despite the formality of the Senate Floor, Bail always considers his personal office to be comfortable and welcoming. Breha had picked out the wall tapestries and accent cushions herself favoring the light blues and earthy greens reminiscent of the famous Alderaan landscape. Steel blue couches arranged in intimate seating groups by the floor to ceiling windows add a relaxing and peaceful atmosphere while deep toned tables provide simple practicality to the otherwise opulent fabrics.

The room itself does remind him a small breakfast room that Breha often spends time in on winter mornings. The large windows there offer a spectacular view out to the lakes and peaks that surround the palace. But here, in his office, the colors remind him of his faraway home and caring family. Sometimes he wonders if Breha designed such a room for that very purpose. She often comments on his sentimentalism with a fond smile.

These rooms very rarely, if ever, privy to any types of fantastical agreements or arguments. Most often, they are used late at night when a bill proposal has kept him up too late and the sofas are more inviting than a speeder ride home to his soft bed. Any sort of bargaining within his Senatorial contacts almost always has a home in Senator Amidala’s office. The bland neutrals of her walls never seem to water down the fire of her arguments nor the passion of her righteous anger.

He is surprised then, while working over a tricky section of a speech with Senator Amidala, they are interrupted by a small contingent of the Jedi Council. His assistant ushers them in with an apologetic look but Bail cannot fault her; he would never refuse Grand Master Yoda nor Jedi Master Mace Windu any request. His speech can wait.

“Master Yoda, Master Windu,” he says rising. “Good Morning.”

Padme stands next to him, offering the Jedi a small nod; her headdress tinkling with the movement. She tucks her hands into the folds over gown.

“Senator Organa, Senator Amidala, apologize we do, on this intrusion. Busy, you must be.”

“As always, Master Yoda. Politics leaves little time for frivolity.”

Mace nods in understanding as Bail bids them to sit down. Mace sprawls easily in the arm chair while Yoda scrambles onto the low couch. Bail tries not to watch but cannot look away from the peculiar sight. He clears his throat.

Padme remains standing, but Yoda interrupts her polite excusal, “Stay, you will Senator. Questions we have for you.”

Bail glances up at her face. Her cheeks have lost their red sweetness and the cords in her neck are tight.

“Of course, Masters,” she says taking a seat. She keeps her back straight and balances on the edge of the cushion. She had always been more formal than him. He sinks back into the cushions gratefully.

Mace looks as serious as ever when he begins to speak. In common Jedi fashion, he wastes little time on pleasantries. Bail misses Obi-wan’s snark and banter. “I trust you know of Knight Skywalker’s absence?”

At their confirmation, he continues. “These last few months, Knight Skywalker has been living on a planet known as Mortis. A planet created from the Force itself and home to three Force Wielders. One of which, known as the Father, has claimed that Knight Skywalker is the Chosen One of the Jedi and will bring Balance to the Force. He was offered the choice to remain on the planet and bring Balance. A choice which he accepted.”

Bail’s heart pounds once at the statement and looks to Padme to confirm that he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me? You cannot be serious?”

Padme looks at the pale green carpeting.

“Serious, we are, Senator Organa. Surprising this is, for the Jedi as well,” Yoda says. He green hands clutch at his walking stick as he taps in on the front of the cushion as he sits.

“The planet has sustained him well. Based on continuous reports, he received sufficient nutrients from the local plants. However, Knight Kenobi, on subsequent visits, did report concern about Skywalker’s health. And, after his last mission where he disobeyed a direct order, brought Knight Skywalker back to the Jedi Temple without the Council's permission,” Mace says. “However, may I remind you that this report is delivered to you in the strictest of confidence.”

Bail nods, trying to look as stunned as he should. He’s more concerned with the impossibility of Obi-wan’s defection.

“And he has already returned, you say? With Knight Skywalker?” Padme asks.

“Returned, they have.”

In general, the HoloNet advertised the missing Hero Without Fear’s whereabouts as top secret and important to the war effort. In a way, they had been correct (and probably fed that line from the Council itself) but the statement certainly did not encompass the full situation.

Bail had been comforted by Obi-wan about Skywalker’s task. If not for that information, he might have assumed as many other citizens had, that Skywalker had been killed in action and this was a cover-up story. Although, Bail know that just one look at Obi-wan could have hold him in Anakin had died. It would be written all over the man as a brand across his face.

The first time the fake story had been announced, Bail had contacted Padme immediately. They’d met in one of the rooftop garden directly adjacent the Senate Rotunda. She told him it was only partially a lie; that Skywalker had stayed behind on an alien planet to fulfill the Jedi prophecy of the Chosen One. She seemed doubtful that such a thing was possible but Bail was content in the knowledge that her dear friend was alive and well enough.

He had seen Obi-wan himself again a few weeks later after a campaign in on the Outer Rim that had ended in a duel with Dooku. He had brightened with the mention of Skywalker and offered up more details with little prompting. Bail had listened to him attentively. He had felt chastened that he could not ignore his own heart for such a purpose. But then again, the Jedi were never known for their more humane emotions.

Padme speaks again, her eyes are wide and searching.  “Unharmed?”

“They are sound. Knight Skywalker is being tended to by the Healers now. However, his initial outlook seems to be positive,” Mace says. He leans forward and steeples his hands with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “However, Senators, I admit that this is not a social call.”

Bail could have guessed as much. He’d never been informed about the personal well-being of any Jedi before despite his friendship with both Obi-wan and the Jedi Council at large.

“Concerned, we are,” Yoda says, “about Knight Obi-wan’s and Knight Skywalker’s attachment to each other. Attachment that is not the Jedi way.”

“Attachment,” Mace adds, “that could lead to actions against the Republic.”

Bail glances at Padme and is unsurprised to see a renewed flush of anger flood across her cheeks. She speaks in a tight and controlled voice but Bail knows a farce when he sees one. In that regard, Padme had never been a very good politician. She was always too honorable. “Councilors, please correct me if I am misreading you. But the allegations against Knight Kenobi and Knight Skywalker are serious indeed. You speak of treason to the very Republic they have put their lives on the line to protect.”

“These are serious accusations, yes Senator. That is why it is in our interest, and your interest, to treat them as such,” Mace says. His grim face at odds with the idyllic mountain scene on the tapestry behind him.

Bail feels somewhat comforted at the fact that the Masters chose to meet them in their own territory instead of the overwhelming environment of the Council Spire.

“And will you be opening an official inquiry into their actions in this matter?” Bail asks. He prays that Padme can keep her temper in check.

“As of now, this is a Jedi matter. However, if we find sufficient cause, yes, an investigation will be opened per military regulations. I hope it does not reach that point, however.”

“Friends of Obi-wan and Anakin you are. Know them well, you do,” Yoda adds. “Help them, your comments will.”

Bail forces himself not to look at Padme again. “Yes, of course” is all he can say even though he has little faith in such a statement.

Yoda looks pleased and he taps his stick against the cushion again. Mace takes this as a que to continue and pulls out a recording device from his robe. “With your permission, the Jedi Council will record your statements and use them in the official evaluation of Knight’s Kenobi and Skywalker. These statements are treated as property of the Jedi Temple and will be used in the Council’s deliberation. The results of which, will be made public when the Council deems appropriate.”

Bail nods, a lump forming in his chest. Padme has gone pale again next to him He can see the tense line of her shoulders beneath her fur stole and lavish jewelry. The air in the room feels stifling even with the constant circulation from the scrubbers.

“Please state your name and position.”

“Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan.”

“Senator Padme Amidala, of Naboo.” Padme’s voice sounds scratchy even to his ears.

Suddenly, Bail wonders if she knows something she shouldn’t. His heart beats too quickly in his chest.

“This is Councilmen and Jedi Master Mace Windu of Coruscant. Please state your relationship with both Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Both Bail and Padme respond that they are friends and have known each other for some years. From the looks on their faces, Bail cannot discern if either Mace or Yoda believes them. Years ago he thought Padme and Anakin were having a romantic spin for months from the way the boy hung on to her every word. But then he learned, over a bit too much wine after a late night session, that Obi-wan’s soft mannerisms and thickening beard were more to Padme’s interests.

“Please state, to your best ability, any instances in the past that Knight Skywalker spoke out loud or in writing about any personal misgivings about the Republic.”

Bail genuinely has no answer for them. He barely knows the boy. He’s always underfoot when Obi-wan visits or standing behind Bail’s friend scowling. The only times they’d really exchanged words were to greet and dismiss each other.

Padme has a similar answer. Of the two of them, he would bet the only one who talks about the Republic is Padme. She seems to think of little else sometimes; always wrapped up in her work.

Again, Master Windu asks the same question, but in regards to Obi-wan and they both give similar answers. Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi is nothing if devoted to seeing the end of the war and full rebuilding of the Republic. Well, at least that’s what Bail had thought before this whole mess of a meeting.

“Please comment on the relationship between Knight Skywalk and Knight Kenobi.”

Yoda sits forward on the couch, his ears shaking.

“Of course, as you know, Anakin became Obi-wan’s padawan learner after Jedi Master Qui-gon Ginn’s death on my home planet of Naboo. Anakin’s training was confirmed at the behest of this Council, as I’m sure you remember,” Padme says. She sits straighter in her seat. “Obi-wan trained Anakin until after the Battle of Geonosis at which Anakin was granted the title of Jedi Knight. Since then, they served both the Jedi and the Grand Army of the Republic both separately and as partners on joint missions.

“On a more personal note, I believe they lead and work effectively together. They have strong relationship built on the foundation of mutual trust and confidence in the other’s abilities.”

Bail nods throughout Padme’s comments and add little extra information, “Yes, their military record shows excellence in battle strategy and efficiency.” He can’t imagine telling the recorder and the Council about the way Obi-wan’s eyes always stray to Skywalker over formal dinners or the way Skywalker reaches out to brush a hand across Obi-wan’s neck when they wait for an air-cab outside the Rotunda. He protects those moments for Obi-wan in the depth of his greedy heart.

Mace and Yoda turn to look at each other and Bail shifts in his seat. Once, years ago, he asked Obi-wan if Jedi could read minds. “Yes,” he said, with a smile and a tilt to his head “in a manner of speaking.”

Bail wonders if the Councilmen and hear every thought he’s having right now.

“Senator Amidala, the last time you saw Knight Kenobi, two months ago it was, yes?” Yoda says.

She confirms with a soft yes for the sake of the recorder.

“Tells us, what you spoke of, you will.”

“Yes, Master Yoda. It was variety of subjects. Some stories from the temple regarding a mishap of his. I told him about the redecorating in the Senate lobby. We spoke about Anakin a bit. Knight Kenobi updated me on Anakin’s continuing health as he knows I am always grateful for.” She looks down at the recorder. “We reminisced for a bit about our first meeting. When he was still a padawan himself. It was altogether very pleasant.”

“And your last conversation with Knight Skywalker?” Mace prompts.

Padme frowns; her pretty face souring. “It has been some time, Councilors. As you are well aware. Anakin and I have not spoken for almost two years.” Bail knows she is thinking of long ago that conversation must feel. He often thinks back about times spent in person with Breha and how few and far between they seem.

 

“If you can, recall that conversation, Senator,” Yoda says.

Bail finds himself frustrated as he knows Padme is upset even if her face doesn’t fold completely.

“He was on his way to Mortis. We communicate often when he finishes a campaign. It had been some time since we had talked before that conversation. Maybe almost a few months.”

She pauses and Bail can see her considering her next words. “I was concerned about a Senate bill so we discussed that at length. I remember little else from the conversation.”

Even though Bail doubts Skywalker gave any input on a piece of legislation, the Jedi do not press for more details. And Bail can only tell them about the last meeting he had with Obi-wan, almost six months ago, when they mostly discussed the benefits of genetically modified fir trees along Alderaan's timberline over tea. Obi-wan had been curiously well-read about the subject. Bail smiles at the memory.

“I’m sure the last time I saw Knight Skywalker, he commented on the inadequacy of my speeder and we said nothing to each other after that.”

Mace reaches forward to switch off the recorder. “Thank you for your statements, Senators. The Jedi Council may request further information from you in the future.”

With a few hollow good wishes, the Jedi leave Padme and Bail to the solitude of his office. His speech lays forgotten on the side table.

The sound of the speeders rushing by the window outside is swallowed up by the rush of the vents within the room. “You never did tell me if you ended up sleeping with Obi-wan,” Bail says after a moment.

Padme turns to him, her mouth open in surprise, “And you never told me if you ended up sleeping with Knight Kenobi either, Senator Organa.”

He smiles and she laughs, finally collapsing against the back of her chair and throwing her arms up on the upholstered sides. She closes her eyes.  “The gall of them, coming here like that,” she says. She doesn't sound angry, only relieved. “Anakin’s returned.” She sighs.

“I doubt Jedi often adhere to conventional social norms,” Bail adds.

Padme peeks at him from one eye. “No, of course not.”

She sits up straighter and stares down at the floor. “Anakin always complains about the Council. Says they’re holding the team back. That they don’t trust them. And I’m sure they don’t.

“When he called him that last time, he told me he was worried about the mission. But what could I tell him?” She sucks in a harsh breath and smears a tear across her cheek. “Every time he calls, it could be his last. Every time they’re pulled into some dangerous mission, one after another, what can I tell him?”

Bail can’t bear her sadness and he sinks to the floor in front of her, grasping her pale hands in his and kissing them. “Dear Padme, there is no correct way. Anakin trusted you to confide in. All he wanted was someone to listen.” He rubs his thumb across her palms. “And you did that. For him.”

“He told me, forever ago before this hateful war started, that he loved me. That he wanted to be with me.”

Bail almost reels back with shock, his eyebrows shooting up and his mouth going dry. He sinks down lower on the carpet with his mouth hanging open. “Anakin Skywalker, little Anakin Skywalker told you that?” His voice is incredulous but she can hardly blame him. As foolhardy and egotistical as Skywalker is, he could never have imagined such wild abandon of the Jedi Code.

Perhaps the Masters had more to gain with their questioning than he thought.

“He did,” she said extracting her hands and wiping at her face again, “but Bail, he was only fourteen at the time. I had come back to Coruscant to secure an apartment before my term started. I was pleased to meet with Obi-wan and Anakin so long after the Trade Federation blockade.” She smiles then, lost in the happy memory.

“He was so earnest, and he worked so hard to secure time alone with me, without Obi-wan. He was quite fetching. He told me all about his mother and how they had just visited her on Tatooine in celebration of her marriage and newly found freedom. Frankly, he was quite vocal about her. Maybe too much. They were obviously close before he came to the Jedi.”

Bail sits back on his heels, “Padme, if this story doesn’t end with you turning him down…”

She laughs, a small and quiet ring, “Of course Bail. I normally prefer my love interests to be a bit more sensible. And, at the time, I was seeing someone. It was short lived, of course, but important to me all the same. I still don’t think Obi-wan knows about that particular meeting.

“But, these last few months I wonder if I-” she cuts herself off and stares down at him, her eyes hard and her sadness forgotten. “Bail. They can’t know. The Jedi Council cannot know.”

“Oh course, Padme. They won’t. This isn’t their story to hear. Nor is it ours to give.” He licks his lips, unsure of his words. “Surely, you must know that Obi-wan… that Anakin…” He cannot say it aloud. The secret had weighed on his mind with every Holonet report on the Hero with No Fear and the Negotiator. Then, with every portrait of Obi-wan broadcasted across the galaxy after Skywalker’s mysterious disappearance; his face greyer and sunken with every month.

“Just before he left for Onderon, Obi-wan came to me. He was distressed.” Padme says, reaching for his hands again and he gives them up gladly. “I could tell that he was teetering on the edge of something.” Her face flushes. “I admit; I wasn’t kind with my admonishment. I all but ordered him to do something about it. I suppose I was selfish. I wanted Anakin back with us.

“Obi-wan said that this- this sacrifice of Anakin’s is the Prophecy. That his would bring an end to the war. But it hasn’t. It's been months and it hasn’t.”

Her flush spreads to a full bloom of red across her cheeks and her eyes narrow. “I knew that something wasn’t right. That Obi-wan wasn’t telling me something. He was too upset, too questioning. His record has suffered. His campaigns are drawn out and violent. He comes back every time with a new life-threatening injury. I’ve had enough.”

She stamps one dainty foot on the carpet. The muffled thump draws her out of her rant. She loosens her grip. “I’ve had enough.”

“You didn’t make the decision for him. He chose his own path,” Bail says. “I’ve trusted him with my life before. Now we have to trust him again.”


	15. His Joy into Ash

Unlike Mortis, Anakin painfully feels the flow of time struggle on in this small room. The windows are cracked to let in the smallest breeze and sunlight streams in to fill the white walls with a dancing glow. But the days drag by in an agonizing creep. He lays on his back, flesh arm packed full of med-pack needles and monitoring sensors. His limbs feel weak and drained.

Every morning, a Healer wakes him with a tray of breakfast. The first few meals, he’d thrown up as soon as they landed in his stomach. In the afternoons, they would try again with a hot cup of broth. He spills it all over his chin but at least it stays down. That past afternoon, the broth was accompanied by a puffy starch biscuit. They’d given up on breakfast.

It takes him two weeks, according to one healer as he’s completely lost track, to stand on his own. It feels like another two years to him. By the time he can shuffle around the room, they’ve added a dry gain to his lunch.

But the Force slips through his grasp with every desperate tug.

Healer Nema gives him a cold, watery treat when he stands up from the bed on his own. His bags of liquid medication trail behind him as he wanders around the corners of his room after she leaves.

News from the Council comes in the form of Master Yoda who wishes him a speeding recovery at the end of the month. The green Master pats Anakin’s arm and tells him the Temple is looking forward to seeing him again.

When Anakin asks Healer Nema about having guests afterwards she frowns and says “That would be unwise.”

The Force doesn’t tell Anakin if she’s hiding something from him. It doesn't say anything at all. He decides to take to make his own house call after the last sensor check that night.

The sentries on either side of the door do little to curb Anakin’s anxiety. What was once a stretch of unmarked hallway dotted with various doors and benign tiles is marred by the presence of straight backed, hooded and masked silent watchers. They do not glance at Anakin as he approaches. Instead, they stare directly ahead, hands on their sabers. In the Force, they feel empty; like a glass that someone emptied of water. There is plenty of space to reach out and ring the buzzer, so Anakin steps in between them.

It takes almost too long for Obi-wan to open the door. The lights in the hall are dimmed to reflect Coruscant's daylight cycle but still lit for those Jedi who are nocturnal. The thought that it is clearly the middle of the night occurs to him. He had lost track of the time. It hadn’t mattered so much on Mortis.

He looks down at his hands and remembers a ghostly touch of phosphorescent flowers brushing across his palms as he sits in the warm earth of a crater. The soil is freshly upheaved from a blast of white hot lightning. The Force seems to billow out of the deep trench like steam from a hot bath. He had gathered the flowers earlier, intent on making a soft place to-

Anakin’s head jerks up a soft voice. “Anakin,” Obi-wan says again. The door is open and Anakin is standing staring at his own feet. He realizes he forgot his boots next to the bed in the medical ward.

“Master,” He says.

Obi-wan’s face is blank. He steps back into the dark of room and gestures for Anakin to enter. The sentries make no move to stop him so he hurries in through the doorway.

The room looks much like it always had. Anakin breathes in deeply. The air smells fresh and clean with just a tinge of chemical flavoring from the Temple’s ventilation system; nothing like the incense saturated rooms in the healing ward. One wide glass door looks out onto the Senate Rotunda and fills the room with the flashing lights of the constant air traffic. Pillows are scattered haphazardly across Obi-wan’s raised sleeping pallet and the sheets are rumpled. A single glass of water sits on the floor next to the bed with Obi-wan’s folded clothes and neatly arranged boots nearby. His lightsaber is missing from its stand next to the window.

Anakin remembers the first time he stepped in these rooms a few months after his was Knighted and he and Obi-wan moved from their Master and Padawan suite. They had only been back from the front for two nights before the cleaning droids came to help them collect their meager belongings and escort them to separate facilities. Obi-wan had insisted in carrying his own data pad but was happy to have the droid transport his lightsaber stand and water glass. Anakin had to argue with his assigned droid to help him collect his spare parts in a woolen duffle; the droid kept insisting that they were detritus meant to be thrown away.

But that night, after laying in his new room for a good fifteen minutes, Anakin had slipped down the hall, into the lift and right into Obi-wan’s new room. It looked the same as his. A raised pallet for a bed but fitted with extra pillows Anakin new Obi-wan had strongly requested from the cleaning droids. The room had been lit with a small glowing lamp on the floor casting a golden halo around the beige walls.

Obi-wan himself had been sitting in front of the window with his head in his hands. He had looked up, surprise in his open mouth and raised eyebrows. “Anakin?” he had said. His voice was rough.

Anakin licks his dry lips at the memory.

Obi-wan stands behind him as the door hisses shut and the light from the hall outside disappears. Anakin’s hands flex by his sides and he shifts from one cold foot to another. He hears the rustle of Obi-wan’s sleeping clothes.

“Will you look at me?” Obi-wan says. His voice is thick with sleep and cracks over his words. His physical presence burns close at Anakin’s back as his Force presence swells up like the crest of a breaking wave. It's the first time he has felt such a presence since he’d woken in the ward.

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut. He can picture Obi-wan’s face, covered in dirt and dark with bruises on his cheeks, before he left Mortis after the Father’s test. He’d walked to the shuttle with a limp and his robes hanging open in grotesque pantomime of modesty. Anakin had looked away as the shuttle exploded out of the atmosphere; their connection strung out in a tiny delicate line braced only by tenacity and stubbornness.

“I left you to the war alone,” he says, his lips  cracked and dry. His limbs grow weary from the effort of holding himself up. “I left you alone to fight to fulfill some stupid story. And I couldn’t even get that right.” He sucks in a deep breath through his mouth and feels it rattle about in his chest.

“Anakin,” Obi-wan says again, “I need to see your face.”

Obi-wan’s lays his hand lightly on the crook of Anakin’s arm where his metal prosthetic meets scarred flesh. His biological and cybernetic nerves tingle at the contact. He allows Obi-wan to turn him but keeps his eyes on the floor. His friend is barefoot as well, dressed only in a pair of loose sleeping pants. The hems drag at the floor and puddle in a soft nest around his feet.

“I can’t ask your forgiveness, Master. I can’t ask for anything.”

Obi-wan slides his hand up Anakin’s arm as he steps forward again. With how much smaller he is than Anakin, the bottom part of his face peeks into Anakin’s vision. His beard is as trimmed and red as always.

“Then I am more selfish than you, my dear friend,” he says. His hand cups Anakin behind the neck. “Selfish and wanting.” Obi-wan’s other hand reaches out to grasp his flesh elbow in a bruising grip. “I’ve missed you.”

Anakin shakes his head and leans into Obi-wan’s warm body. Their foreheads rest against each other, a soft press of skin. Anakin tries to push his thoughts to Obi-wan. His hands shake as he lays them with hesitant reverence on Obi-wan’s arms. He can’t speak through the knot in his throat.

His fingers clamp down on the firm skin. Obi-wan’s muscles flex beneath his grip, his skin flushed and smooth. He slides his metal hand up to Obi-wan’s neck and skims his fingers across his collarbone. His face tips into Anakin’s hand when he traces his jaw line and the soft, delicate tease of his ear. Obi-wan’s eyes brows are silky under his thumb; his nose straight. Anakin drags his fingers across pink lips. They part at the attention.

His red mouth whispers into the darkness. “I am selfish, Anakin,” Obi-wan says, his rough voice snapping. “I left you there on that planet to rot. I thought it was your duty as the Chosen One. I thought it was the best thing for the Jedi and the galaxy.” His stream of words grows more and more tender and strained. “I thought that Qui-Gon’s prediction was finally coming true.”

He cups Anakin’s face and looks up at him. His eyes are bright but rimmed with red. “But I was wrong. The Council was wrong. I’d left you there and you were losing yourself.” He pauses to lick his chapped lips. “I was losing you.”

Anakin runs his metal hand again through Obi-wan’s shorn hair, his voice wavering like a strangled and wrung rag. “No, Master, Obi-wan. Please.” He struggles for words. “I made a mistake, I should have never even thought of leaving you. I let my ego dictate my actions. I thought that I could do it alone. That I could end the war. I was a stupid fool.” Obi-wan’s body shakes with frustration under his hands. His legs sag and Anakin helps him to the pallet.

In the glow from the traffic outside, they are quiet. Hands stroke across brows and lips and ears and they drink in each other. Anakin pulls his black thumb down the prickle of Obi-wan’s beard and wipes across his red cheeks. His flesh hand grips Obi-wan’s bicep. Obi-wan’s muscles flex under warm, smooth skin. They sit knee to knee with legs dragging off the side. Their bare feet bump against each other over the slide of the glossy floor.

There are more scars littering Obi-wan’s chest. Anakin traces them with his fingers. Obi-wan watches him with a sad smile on his face; one of his hand buried in Anakin’s hair. The other slides up and down his arms and chest with the faintest pressure.  The sheets rustle in their soft movements. 

Obi-wan smells like bacta patches. It makes Anakin’s heart freeze and stutter. But Obi-wan assuages his fears with stories of how each came to be. Anakin forces his heart to unclench at the tales filled with familiar names and faraway places. But he feels each story as a scene missing from his own life. 

“I should have been there,” Anakin says. He lays against Obi-wan’s warm side, his head pillowed on Obi-wan’s shoulder. “I was supposed to be with you.”

Obi-wan leans down and Anakin feels his lips and his nose in his hair. “Leave it, Anakin.”

They don’t speak again that night. Anakin takes comfort in the thump of Obi-wan’s heart and the light, rhythmic pressure in his writs. He holds Obi-wan’s hand to his face and breathes in the smell of soap and skin. 

He closes his eyes when silent tears slide down his cheeks. Obi-wan breathes steadily, light puffs of air rustling his beard, when he falls asleep. Anakin presses desperate kisses to each of his knuckles. His heart is heavy and full of doubt.

Anakin reaches for the Force again for comfort but it slips from him; silent in its dismissal. 

When the sun outlines the other towers jutting out into the Coruscant skyline, Anakin folds Obi-wan underneath the thick sheet and strokes his hand down the length of his body. He reaches underneath Obi-wan’s largest pillow to verify the man’s ‘saber is within reach. Satisfied, he brushes his lips across the older Jedi’s eyebrow. “I’m meeting with the Council this morning,” he says. “I need to pretend I was in Medical all night.”

The sentries could be the same, but they make no movement when Anakin squeezes out of Obi-wan’s quarters. His extensive trip through side hallways and seldom used turbolifts is uneventful with most species inhabiting the Temple in overlapping sleep cycles. The thin morning light covers the walls and shining doorways with a melted glow that brings a quiet smile to Anakin’s face. He drags his fingers across the smooth walls as he walks.

In the mirror in his patient room, the bags under his eyes bulge in dark pockets. The skin on his cheeks nothing but translucent and sallow sheets. His gums have shrunk back, exposing more of his teeth; his lips are puckered and misshapen.

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the cold glass.

When his escort finally arrives, the sun shines through the windows with its full heat. Anakin sits on top of his thick white mattress and layers of sheets and quilts twisting his fingers around his loose tabards. One of the Healers had been kind enough to find him clothing to replace his ruined robes. The new set rests lower on his chest, exposing his white under tunic, but are a deep enough black that Anakin feels familiar in them. He smooths his hands over his dark pants as he stands.

Healer Nema meets the group at the door to the Council chamber as they arrive. Her tablet is clutched in her hands and her face is pinched. “Good Morning, Knight Skywalker,” she says. “Shall we?” Her light medical robes flare as she pivots and nods to the guards at the door.

The ante-chamber floods with light as Anakin steps into the ring of chairs. His heart pounds in his chest as he attempts to keep his thoughts under control. He imagines Obi-wan by his side as if they were reporting after a successful mission. He sucks in a breath through his front teeth.

Healer Nema guides the report in the first few minutes as Anakin stands still beside her.His skin itches under his robe and his feet feel stuffed into his boots.

The Council remains silent when Healer Nema finishes her review of his original condition and her subsequent treatment. With a bow, she exits the chamber without instruction.

Anakin reaches to the Force but finds it skittering away from his grasp. He feels naked without his cloak. A cool air blows across the back of his neck. He forces himself to stand still without shifting his feet.

Yoda sits motionless on his low stool and Windu leans forward in his seat. His face is pale. “Knight Skywalker,” he says.

Anakin feels his spine stretch upward at the official title as instinct takes over. He bows forward at the waist. “Masters,” he says.

Many in the circle nod at him in a repressed greeting. The tension fills the air in sweet syrupy stink, even without the Force.

“Healer Nema has declared you on the mend,” Plo Koon says in his gentle manner. Anakin is grateful for his kind words.

“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’ve been placed on regimented diet and exercise plan.” He knows they know this already, but can’t think of anything else to say. He wonders what Obi-wan told them.

A wash of pleasure fills his heart and he forces his thoughts away from his former Master and on the feel of the floor beneath his boots and the tight cling of his robes.

“This Council,” Windu says suddenly, “is interested in the events that unfolded on the Force planet after your first contact with the Father, the Daughter and the Son.”

Anakin nods but his heart pounds. “Yes, Master Windu. I…” He pauses and glares at the floor. “I don’t remember much. I remember the planet and the fields and the flowers. And the Father and his Children. They were there. Sometimes they talked to me. And I remember Obi-wan- I mean Knight Kenobi - visiting.”

He frowns at the floor, his eyebrows furrowing. “Well, I remember some of his visits. I know I’m missing some details. Sometimes he’d tell me but I would forget. He had to remind me over and over.” Anakin’s lips draw back in a rueful smile. “Healer Nema said I’ve been suffering from short term memory loss.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “She said it’d been almost two years.”

“And the Force, Knight Skywalker,” Ki-Adi Mundi prompts at his continued silence. “How did the Force guide you?”

He bites his lip. “I had dreams. Visions. Sometimes I knew they were real. Sometimes they seemed more like hallucinations.”

“Healer Nema reported that you suffered from multiple seizures that often times caused temporary paralysis and memory loss,” Windu says. “Did these occur during your visions?”

“I… I don’t know.” Anakin grits his teeth and looks sharply up, eyes roving around the seated Council. “They were constant. I was always forgetting things. I was caught up in - in those visions. Forced to watch as the galaxy moved on without me. Obi-wan would remind me, sometimes, but I would forget his stories. His visits.” His shoulders fall as a harsh breath leaves his mouth. “It seems like only a few weeks have gone by. Like I just left the Temple. Like I’ve been on a spice high. Everything is messed up - disjointed.”

“Anger, you feel.”

Anakin’s face jerks to Yoda.

“Anger about your weakness. Anger about your failure.”

He drops his chin against his chest. “Yes, Master Yoda.” He looks up, his fists tightening by his sides. “But also relief that I didn’t die alone, a failure. I stayed to fix things. To end this war. The Father was so certain that I was the Chosen One. That I would bring Balance to the Force.” He licks his lips. “But I don’t know if that's true. I lost myself on that planet. I lost my purpose. My memories are hazy. Sometimes it all feels like a dream. Like I was never there at all.”

The Council members look back and forth between each other. Anakin wishes he could feel their thoughts but the Force is empty to him.

“Knight Kenobi reported that the Father passed into the Force,” Master Mundi comments. “And this changed nothing?”

Anakin shook his head. “The Son and the Daughter continued as before. I didn’t even know he died until Knight Kenobi told me on his last visit. I rarely saw him.”

“We are highly concerned about all of these events, Knight Skywalker,” Mace says leaning back into his chair. “First, Knight Kenobi returns with the strange news of your discovery -  and that you had actually stayed at the Father’s request. And then, he brings you back to the Temple, unconscious.” His tirade grows louder. “What exactly is going on here?”

Anakin says nothing.

“Clouded, the Force is,” Yoda says. He stares at Anakin from his padded stool. “Dark, the future is. I sense your own connection with the Force is damaged, Young Skywalker.”

“It is Master Yoda.” Anakin grits his teeth again. He had never been as good as Obi-wan at releasing his emotions to the Force. But its presence in his every action, and in his very soul, comforted him. Its absence now feels like a poison in his veins; like betrayal.

Yoda hums. “Knight Kenobi, worried about you, he was. Claimed that killing you, the planet was.”

“Yes, Masters. I… I do not believe that I made the right decision to stay. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

“When Knight Kenobi initially reported your choice, I must admit that I was surprised.” Mace watches Anakin with a grim face. “It is unlike you to be so self-less.”

Anakin takes a deep breath.

“But, this Council was supportive your decision. We believed that it would be best option to end this war, and possibly the Sith threat. The prospect of a planet full of beings made from the Force itself was tantalizing, to say the least, the Prophecy of the Chosen One offered us little other options.”

Mace presses his lips together again. “And are you, Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One the prophecy spoke of?”

Anakin’s distorted memories buzz around his thoughts in a dizzy circus. He remembers looking up from the ground, disoriented and in pain, at the swirl of golden lights across a starry sky. Of Obi-wan bathed in the light of the Force. Of Darkness rippling across his arms and out like slithering bands of anger. Of two struggling lives surging with fear and terror and pain in the Force.

“No, Masters. I’m not.”


	16. Interlude: Padme

“Ani” she says, tears glittering on her round, flushed cheeks.

“Padme” he reaches out and she fills his arms; trembling and mumbling nonsense. He runs his flesh hand through her hair and down her back, grasping her dress in his fingers. Her neck smells as sweet and fresh as he remembered and her body pulls him in close. The smooth swell of her waist and the press of her small breasts on his chest force his eyes shut against the prick of hot tears. He presses his forehead to her shoulder and whispers into the soft skin under his lips.

“Ani, Ani,” she says pushing him back so she sees his face again. Her cheeks glow above her smile and her hands smooth at his shoulders over and over. “I thought-I had hoped...you were so brave- the Jedi - they never said but you’ve always come out ahead and we needed you so badly-” She breaks off the wash of words and cups his face. She pulls in a deep breath; puffing out warm air onto his lips. “Obi-wan, Knight Kenobi - he’s been, he’s tried-”

He runs his thumbs over her cheeks. “I know Padme, I’ve seen him.” He smiles down at her and kisses the top of her head. He lingers long enough to take in the scent of her hair and nutty brilliance of her warm skin. “I’ve seen him.”

She leads him with a tight grip on his palm to the upper level of her apartment and away from the speeder deck below. They settle into her bed fully clothed and wound around each other. Padme presses her ear up against his chest and relishes in the hard stab of his lightsaber into her stomach. Anakin pulls up the coverlet overtop of their bodies and over their heads so they are cocooned in the light blue glow of the blanket from the afternoon sun outside.

His breath puffs into her fallen hairstyle in a steady rhythm.

She closes her eyes but only for a moment. Her fingers play along the hem of his uniform and crisscross over the familiar patterns of his utility belt and the fastenings of his inner robe. His flesh hand is lodged tight in her hair while the other lays as a heavy weight on her fluttering chest.

It isn’t until the blanket glows a deep midnight that Anakin cranes his neck again to press his face to her head. “I dreamed there. A lot.” He inhales and pushes the air out through his nose with a sigh. “About you and Obi-wan. And even the Chancellor sometimes.”

She doesn’t respond but flattens her hand flat against his chest. Their legs straighten and twine again underneath the sheets.

“I saw you here. In this room. You were upset and there wasn’t anything I could do.” He licks his lips in the near darkness. “You were crying.”

She feels a cold creep of guilt wash over her face. “Please don’t think of the past, Ani. We have all made choices but those choices do not define our future.”

He laughs in a mocking rumble and she sways on top of his chest. “You always have something wise to say. You would make a fine Jedi Master, m’lady.”

She smiles and looks up at him. She can see the barest outline of his chin in the dim light. The faint shine of his curls outline his face. But his eyes are lost in the dark.

“Are you hungry?”

He squeezes her again and reaches up to pull the blanket down. A flood of flashing lights and streaming neon envelop them in the room through the wide windows. She sits up and balances on the side of the bed. The carpeted floor is soft underneath her delicate shoes. Anakin rustles the sheets behind her. She can picture him adjusting his robes and checking his lightsaber.

She reaches up to fiddle with her hair. The metal decorations have titled and pulled her braids in a ratty mess. The claps on the sleeves of her gown are still buttoned so she pops them open to expose her thin pale writs.

“Do you still have those order out menu in C3PO’s memory banks? I could really go for something salty.”

“Help me out of this,” Padme says. She scoots back on the bed so Anakin can reach the clasps on her dress. He snaps them open one by one and fiddles with the ties of her undershift. His metal hand holds her waist steady.

“Padme,” he says. His breath warms the back her neck and her skin prickles under the attention. “I’ve missed this.” He kisses her exposed shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

She feels a flush of hot anger brush across her face and her hands curl in her lap. “You left us,” she says. Her words come out in a harsh croak of righteous indignation. Her heart thrums in her chest and she sneers at the window and the traffic outside. “You left Obi-wan. You left me. What did you think would happen?”

She surges to her feet and spin to face him, suddenly overcome. His expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed tight together, fans her strum of rage.

“Did you think that you would be able to single handedly save the entire Republic by wasting away on a barren planet? That you should abandon your men and the Jedi to chase some ridiculous fantasy of glory?” She learns towards him, her face tight and stiff with saliva building up between her gums and under her tongue.

His legs are wrapped in sheets and the coverlet but meets her with equal fervor. The blinking lights outside reflect on his pale eyes turning them red in the dark room. “What I thought, Senator?” He spits with anger. “The Jedi Council approved of my actions. They completely sanctioned my Jedi duty to stay on Mortis and bring Balance to the Force.”

He sneers at her. “I was sacrificing myself for the good of this karking democracy you love so much. I knew I wasn’t coming back. I was giving up any chance of happiness with - “

His hand thumb hovers over the switch of his lightsaber and Padme takes a step back almost tripping in her haste. Her back presses up against the cold glass of the window in the shrinking room. She feels for the tiny blaster tucked into the lattice of her overskirt. The glass of water on the side table rattles she feels a thrum of energy through the heels of her shoes.

Anakin’s face contorts with a roll of passing emotion. His eyes tighten into slits; the skin around his mouth pinched. For a moment, he looks nothing like Anakin as his hair shadows his face and his neck and jaw clench and flex. The water glass rattles one last time before toppling over and rolling off onto the floor. It lands with a soft thud on the carpet as the water puddles of the surface of the wood and pours off the edge in a thin steady stream.

The sound of Anakin’s ragged breath fills the room over the rush of her blood through her ears. She waits for a moment, one hand pressed flat against the cool glass, before reaching out to him and taking his head into her arms. He sags in her grip as she runs her fingers over the ridge of her spine. She buries her nose his curls and squeezes her eyes shut.

“What have I done?” He says. His voice croaks over through his cracked lips. “How can you forgive me?”

“No no no,” she says into his hair. “I’ve said terrible things, Ani. I’ve missed you -I’ve worried for you. But I don’t blame you.” She cradles his faces and brings his forehead to hers. “I don’t.”

“Obi-wan,” he says; his eyelashes flutter against her hot face. “Obi-wan, he - he did something. Something he shouldn’t have. All because I left him alone. I left him on the battlefield alone. With no partner. He didn’t care about the Prophecy. He couldn’t even tell me it was the right thing to do. He could have died- and now the Code. He’s gone against the Council. They’ll want-”

Padme cuts off his pain wailings with a kiss to his dry lips. Her own are wet. They breathe into each other’s mouths, their lips hovering, while his breathing evens. Padme imagines pushing all her sorrow and forgiveness and fear into the air so that Anakin can feel her in the Force. She focuses on thinking about her joy at seeing him alive and her happiness while being held in his arms. The blare of horns from outside traffic accompanies her attempts.

“His choices are his own, Anakin,” she says as his breath deepens. His clutch on her shoulders eases as he pulls away. He looks down at the twisted coverlet and sheet.

“Come.” She pulls her legs underneath her and stands up on unsteady ankles. She reaches out to him. “Let get something to eat. I can catch you up on some Senate gossip.”

He looks up at her with red rimmed eyes. His smile is soft and gentle. “Is this information a Jedi Knight is permitted to hear, M’Lady? I wouldn't want to accidently expose and political secrets in the mess hall tomorrow morning.”

Her heart still pounds, her face flushed, but she forces a smile to her lips. “I would never, Knight Skywalker.”


	17. Separation and Self-Governance

Mace reads the charges sent directly from the Chancellor’s office for the benefit of the record more so the benefit of anyone in the room. Disobeying a direct order, exposing Republic secrets, stealing a military vessel, interfering in an ongoing mission as just the start. It's a damning list, for sure.

The Order has tried to maintain their separate sovereignty from the Senate but to little avail. This trial is the only one of many threads in the tightening noose of increasing Senatorial oversight and the death of Council autonomy.

Contrary to his mood, the sun illuminates the Council Room in a golden glow dampened only by the sour atmosphere. Masters ring the outside of the circle in their neutral robes; some sitting in the flesh and others attending via holo projections. Master Ti sits up straight despite her recent injury. Her holo flickers, the connection weak from the distant Rim. In stark contrast, Master Piell looks fresh and whole as his recent stay in medical came to an end last week. He has yet to be assigned a new missions as his troops shore up their fleet. Others are in similar states around the room.

“And what have you to say about these accusation, Knight Kenobi?” Yoda asks. The faces around the perimeter of the Council room are largely grim, Yoda being no exception. He frowns, his thin grey lips pressed tightly together.

Obi-wan stands in the center, his face blank and his back straight. He’s abandoned his robe and the ceremonial outer tabards. Mace thinks he looks more like a moisture farmer than a Jedi. But the Knight's thoughts are locked behind an iron door and his stance firm. “I have nothing to say, Master Yoda. My actions were my own.”

Council members mumble in distaste at this, but Mace can hardly think himself surprised. “This Council will deliberate on recourse in light of your comment, Knight Kenobi. The Senate is looking for a swift end to any dissonance against the Republic. It will not be possible for the Order to guard its members as it has in the past.”

“I am aware, yes, Master Windu. I expected little else.”

“And yet,” Master Koth exclaims, “You still bring the Senate ire upon us! The galaxy must look to the Jedi for guidance in these Dark times. We must be a light of hope and yet you sully our namesake with your traitorous actions.”

Shouts rise up from a few members, but many nod and steeple their hands around the room. Mace drops his own forehead into his hands and rubs at his temples. “This is not the time for a philosophical debate, Master Koth,” he says, mumbling mostly to himself; his words lost in the momentary din of voice.

Yoda smacks his cane against his seat with a hard crack. “Truth, there may be in this. But discuss it now, we will not. Different concerns, this Council has. Qui-gon’s prediction, correct it was not, it seems,” Yoda says, interjecting into the buzz with measured patience. “Much hope we have placed on this prophecy. But, removed him from the planet and the Force, you did, Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-wan shifts in the center, his face cracking for the barest instant as his arms jerk up as if to physically defend himself. “You doubt that he is the Chosen One? After all these years?” he says, breathless. “After all the tests you’ve confronted him with?”

“He can barely maintain any connection with the Force. How is that the mark of the Chosen One?” says Master Ti. She tilts her decorated head to the side, her blue holo projection faint in the light from outside. “I wish only to know the truth.”

Obi-wan glances around to several faces before speaking, his eyes narrowing. “That planet changed him - separated his mind from his body.”

“And you recommended his actions,” Mace says, interjecting before they can get too far off topic. “Do you not take responsibility for your decisions?”

“I do. And I regret it more with each passing day,” Obi-wan says, snapping in his retort. His Force presence flares for a moment, ignited with anger before settling again behind the power of his mind. “Why, after all these years, did I fall prey to leaning on Anakin as if he is some weapon to be used? How could I have fallen to that level? I’ve tried to keep him separate from your expectations, from his own expectations and the Senate, and yet I failed in the very moment that mattered most.”

“You admit then, that you have been actively separating him from his duties? That you have instilled an independence in him that is unsuitable for a Jedi?”

“We have emotions, Master Windu. You cannot deny your own feelings. It is only ignoring them above all else that is forbidden. I have only done what my conscious would not allow. And it is more than any of you would have done in my place.”

Master Kolar makes a cutting gesture from across the room. “You took on training of this boy despite explicit refusal from this council. You encouraged him to maintain his relationship with his birth mother. How is that not an express dismissal of the Code?”

Obi-wan rounds on him, his lips twisted but his voice still steady. “I could never regret allowing him happiness.”

More Masters gasp with outrage at the comment, some even making to stand from their seats. The Force flashes around the room, swelling with ire with every passing comment.  

“Misplaced, your judgement is, Knight Kenobi,” Yoda says. He remains seated in his chair, but his hands wrap around the top of his cane like vice. “Wanted the boy to be trained, your own Master, Qui-gon did. But trained him _you_ did.” He jabs a taloned green finger in Obi-wan’s direction. “Against our orders, you did.”

“And he is a Knight worthy of his title,” Obi-wan says. He stands straight again. The tension in his body draining as if it were water rushing down a mountainside. “A better Jedi than I could ever hope to be.”

Mace pulls the conversation back under his control then with a firm look around the room. “And we do not deny his skills. You are not being questioned on that concern. We are, however, concerned with his ability to follow this Council when ordered. And, for the purpose of this meeting, your own ability to do so.” He motions for the other members to sit back lest their tempers evade their grasp. The settle back into their chairs, their faces pinched.

Obi-wan looks over at him then. “I could not let him grow up as I had,” he says, speaking softly. “Tossed aside at a whim. Treated with contempt when a larger prize enters the playing field. You question me about whether or not he is the Chosen One. What if he isn’t? Will you throw him away for someone else more promising?”

The silence in the room breaks only with the passing of a heavy freighter as it rumbles past the high windows. Mace sits back in his chair, the conversation over with a finality that crushes his lungs.

He can feel the same sentiment echo through the chamber on the tail of the Force. Has the war divided them so deeply that they cannot see the cracks before they turn into chasms?

Mace waves Kenobi away, irritated and finished looking at him. He exits with a stiff but crisp bow; never one to ignore basic protocol. The other Masters dismiss his presence and turn to their neighbors in deliberation.

Of course, when the doors hiss open, Skywalker is waiting for him outside; pacing across the small waiting room in an irritated huff. They stand close for a moment, exchanging soft words before Kenobi’s guards can usher him away. “-dream that your room was destroyed. But you weren’t there when I went to check and-”

Kenobi’s head tilts up to watch Skywalker’s expression as his tan face contorts under the strain of his emotions. They throb through the Force until Kenobi lays a hand on the younger Jedi’s arms, silencing his thoughts.

Mace knows any other sentient would look away, like he’s seen something private. But a lifetime of living in tight quarters, with no barriers to personal space, allows him to feel no guilt in watching.

He only catches that last of their conversation over the swelling murmur of the other Council members’ voices: “I’m here Anakin.”

Skywalker’s mouth snaps shut and he nods, stepping back and away from his former Master.

The doors close before he hear anything else. The guards step forward to lead Obi-wan away just as the hiss of the auto-lock snaps into place. But Mace catches an instant of Skywalker’s face over Obi-wan’s shoulder; one twisted with despair.

He sits back again in his chair, his elbows on the armrests, and closes his eyes. Around him, the Master’s deliberate in loud voices, their frustration palpable in the air.

“This meeting, requested by the Chancellor specifically, I might add, was supposed to evaluate Knight Kenobi’s ability to return to active duty. Not to question him about his relationship with Knight Skywalker,” Master Koon says, cutting through the voices. “It is not our place to evaluate a Jedi’s personal behaviors.”

Master Koth stands, whipping out a hand as he speaks. “Whose responsibility is it then? If this Council does not act, we have nothing between the Jedi and the Sith.”

“It is the responsibility of the individual to choose their own path,” Master Ti says, her projection wavering. “If I may remind you that this Council has has never condemned a Jedi who left the Order in the past. Why would we begin to judge how our member’s follow the Code now?”

“Because we are at war,” someone says.

“Look what happened to the last Jedi to leave the Order! A Sith Lord now!” Master Tin adds, his voice rising and gesturing from his seat. “This is no time for complacency.”

Yoda bangs his stick against his chair again to drown out the angry voices. The standing Council members sit down again in a huff, their faces tight. He scans the room, his thoughts fully controlled. “Question Knight Kenobi on behalf of the Senate, we cannot. Beyond a Jedi issue, I feel this is. Too closely related, it is, the issue of the Chosen One.”

“I agree,” Master Mundi says, speaking for the first time. “Clearly, we are unable to separate Kenobi’s Jedi responsibilities with his military responsibilities. We are not an impartial party. The Senate must take over this case.”

“And let the Republic have a direct line to questioning the actions of a Jedi?” Master Ti says, scandalized. Her eyes are wide and her mouth open. “What’s to stop them when they don’t approve of the way we organize the creche? Or when they feel we’ve overstepped our bounds on a diplomatic mission? What you are suggesting will alter the Order beyond this Council’s control.”

Master Koon nods, “Never before has the Order been so closely associated with the Republic. Already we are military leaders. How long before we become cogs in the political system; there for the Senate to direct on a whim?”

Yoda taps his stick again, silencing any further commentary. Mace rubs his temples, the Force alight with tension.

“Vote, we will,” Yoda says. He looks to Mace.

Mace sits up, reaching for his data pad to tally the votes for the official record. He discards his misgivings in favor of his duty and swallows any additional commentary that stirs in his mind. “All in favor or ceeding Knight Kenobi’s investigation to the Senate.”

Hands raise around the room while some Master’s look as it they’ve been struck across the face.

“And all in favor of continuing to conduct this investigation as a Jedi matter.”

Fewer hands raise then, with some members abstaining from a vote. Mace marks the results, his own fingers stiff above the screen. He clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his shock. “Seven to four, in favor of Senate completion,” he announces.

No one speaks until Yoda stands. The Force rolls around the room like a thunderstorm; dangerous and unpredictable. “Decided, it has been. Send Knight Kenobi for a formal trial, we will. A Jedi matter, this no longer is.”

Shaak Ti stands as well, her glowing form towering over the small Grandmaster. “I hope this Council’s foolishness will not lead to ruin,” she says, snapping. “May the Force be with us all.”

She cuts her connection and the room falls into a bitter silence.

Mace closes his eyes. May the Force be with them. Even if they don’t deserve it.


	18. Playing with Politicians

“I admit, Anakin, that I invited you this afternoon for some alternative reasons.”

“Is that why you told me to wear regular clothes instead of my robes?”

Padme smiles at him, his roguish grin bringing her spirits up. She gives his outfit of a black shirt and pants, tucked into his customary boots, an exaggerated and skeptical look. “Yes, and I see the Jedi dress for luncheon the same way they cook.”

He folds his arms across his chest and pouts, shifting his weight. “Says the person who wears a tiara to bed. Maybe that’s a little much, don’t you think?”

She ignores his jab and instead loops her arm through his to lead him out to the covered veranda. A screen funnels the worst of the wind away from the seating area but the day is still blustery and her skirt whips up around her as she walks. Within moments, Anakin's hair fluffs into disarray. They sit on a long outdoor couch, tucked in between a more solid wall and out of the elements. 

Across from them, C3P0 hovers over the table, fitfully adjusting forks and napkins to exactly the correct place. He straightens when he catches sight of them, throwing up his stiff arms in surprise. “Oh Master Anakin! Goodness gracious! How wonderful it is to see you.”

“You too, 3P0,” Anakin says. Padme hands him a drink from the nearby tray. “It's been a while.”

“Almost two years exactly I’m sure,” C3P0 says, shuffling over to their position. “R2 has been quite put out about it, I can assure you.”

Anakin smile fades then and he glances down at his drink. “I haven’t seem him yet since I’ve been back.”

“Well I’m sure that he’ll be more than excited to see you, Master Anakin. He boasts of your adventures often enough to have run out of any polite conversation.” C3P0 turns away then, his cybernetic brain unable to handle too many tasks at once. He goes back to the table, mumbling to himself before waddling back off into the apartment.

Padme watches as Anakin keeps his eyes on his drink. She nudges him with her elbow. “How’s Obi-wan? Still under house-arrest?”

He nods, “Yeah, he went before the Council a few days ago. I don’t think they decided on anything though.” His face creases as his eyebrows furrow. “I can’t believe they’re even questioning him on this.”

She hums in agreement. “Did I tell you that Master Windu and Master Yoda visited me?”

“They did? When?”

“Yes, they came soon after Obi-wan brought you back. They were... concerned to say the least.”

He snorts, tipping back his drink in one go and sets the empty glass down. “Yes, I’m sure they were. That’s why they have Obi-wan under guard. And why they haven’t declared me fit for combat. Or even creche duty.” He stands and wanders over to the table, running his hand over the backs of the chairs. “Not even an hint of an assignment. I’m starting to go crazy in the Temple.”

Padme stays on the couch. “Do you want an assignment? Isn’t it time you deserved a break?”

“When all the other Jedi are in the field? When Obi-wan’s troops - my troops - have been fighting for the last two years while I’ve been sitting around daydreaming? The Council's been investigating rumors of a Sith - Maul’s Master. There aren’t enough Jedi to go around as it is.”

Padme sighs and pats the seat beside her again. She isn’t prepared for Anakin’s hysterics at the moment. “Come here,” she says. “The others will be here soon. Remember you aren’t here on official duty. Just listen if that’s all you want to do.” 

He sits down next to her again with slumped shoulders and she watches him out of the corner of her eye. “And please eat something. You’re far too thin still.”

He broods for a moment, his face furrowed in concentration and his fingers pulling at the hem of his casual shirt. “Padme,” he says before pausing. “About that...that aide you were seeing from Ryloth...”

She pulls back in surprise, shrinking away from him; a cold terror lancing down her spine. “Ani? What?” She licks her lips. “How did you know about that?”

“I dreamt it,” he says in a whisper, not looking at her face. “Last night.”

Her mind spins in a cold flurry trying to braid together what little understanding she has of the Force. “That happened months ago,” she says at last. “I didn’t...I didn’t tell anyone other than Dorme.”

“Are you okay?” He asks, finally tilting his messy head to peek at her. “It was sudden, I know. I saw you after the bombing was announced on the holonet. Was he...”

She smiles at him although it holds little joy. “Yes, Anakin. I’m fine.” She lays her hand on his leg, squeezing and shifting back closer to him so their knees press against each other. “We parted as lovers. I have accepted his death. Now, that is.”

Anakin lays his gloved hand over hers. It’s oddly cold despite the heat from his body. She flexes her fingers so can intertwine with his. 

“I wasn’t there,” he says watching her intently from his pale face. His cheeks are still more gaunt than they were before his extended absence. And his eyes have lost a lot of their fire. “I could have done something if I was.”

“It’s okay, Ani,” she says again. “I’m not upset. We didn’t have time to become too close. I’ve made my peace with it.” She pauses. “I was just surprised you mentioned it.”

C3P0 wobbles back out to the lobby then with Senator Alavar in tow. Padme brushes her hand over Anakin’s shoulder as she stands to greet the representative from the Kanz Sector. “Please, Anakin. Look to the future instead of the past. It won’t do to dwell on such sadness.”

“You sound like a Jedi,” he says, mumbling. But his expression lifts and he looks less burdened than a moment ago.

She turns away from him to extract the Senator from 3P0’s overbearing nature. “Senator Alavar,” she says, smiling and stepping close to touch cheeks in order to follow Lorrdian custom. “I am very glad to see you so well.”

It isn’t long before the other guests begin to arrive. C3P0 shows them each out to the veranda while other serving droids hum about the covered area with drink trays and small treats. Padme greets them all with enthusiasm and a smile, intent on being a proper host despite the serious nature of their gathering.

She greets dear Bail with a kiss on his scratchy beard. “Padme,” he says, “How is Anakin?” 

She follows his eyes across the patio to where Anakin still sits on the cushion. “Recovering,” she says, more hope than real conviction. “Confined to Coruscant for the time-being.”

He gives her a wane smile. “I’m sure he will recover more quickly than we would prefer. And it would do the Republic good to see him returned.”

When Mon arrives, she clasps hands within Padme’s own as they exchange soft greetings. And she can’t help but give a wide smile to Senator Zar when he steps outside, his bushy eyebrows raised in good humor. Other Senators, she doesn’t know as well and they refrain from emotional shows of affection.

She had considered leaving Anakin off the guest list given his poor health. And really, the amount of responsibility already piled on his shoulders from the Jedi alone is too much. She is loathe to force more concerns upon him. However, with Obi-wan unavailable, she sent the invitation despite her misgivings. They need an outside perspective.

There isn’t much time allotted for mingling but they eat first, of course, as certain airs need to be maintained. Each course comes out accompanied by a selection of wine that she had made earlier that week. As usual, her chef has outdone herself and the guests praise each dish. 

She keeps an eye on Anakin. He chats sparingly with his neighbors at the table, sliding his utensils around across each plate as the dishes are brought out. She does see him taste a few selections; his face pale as he swallows. 

His presence at the table goes unremarked although she knows they all recognize his face. It's probably a shock to see him here; after all, the Jedi Order never released his whereabouts and many had thought him killed in the line of duty. 

After the last remains of their sweet dessert, Padme stands from her place at the head of the table. “Thank you, my dear colleagues, for coming this evening,” she says, her last drink in her hand. “I know that I have been reticent with bringing the proposal of the Delegation of the 2000 before the Office of the Chancellor. I wish to remedy that as soon as possible.”

She takes her seat again, looking from face to face at the small dining table. Her eyes linger on Anakin for a moment longer than the rest. “I feel that it is important to bring this matter to the attention of the Jedi Council before we take any further action.”

Many of the party look surprised. “We are hoping to form an alliance in Senate to stop the Chancellor from further subverting the constitution, that’s all. Why would the Jedi need to involved in such an act?” says Papanoida. 

“That’s why I have invited Anakin this afternoon. He is here as a representative of only himself, not of the Jedi or the Council.”

Most of the Senators turn towards him then but he doesn’t shrink under their gaze. His face is pale, and his skin tinted with almost a green hue as if he might be sick. But he sits up straighter at the attention.

“Knight Skywalker,”  says Mon Mothma, who sits next to Padme near the the head of the table, “I am glad to see you on Coruscant once again. And in good health, considering you were gone for so long. The citizens of the Republic will be thankful to see you alive and well.”

Other Senators murmur their agreement but Senator Chuchi frowns in concern. “I hope you are well, Knight Skywalker. The Jedi were very secretive about your whereabouts. I believe that many people believed you lost from us.”

Anakin attempts to smile but Padme can see that it lacks his customary excitement and joy. But it is polite and comforting nonetheless. “Yes, it has been a long time. I was on a mission specific to the Order’s interests instead on duty for the Republic. It took longer than expected.”

Senator Chuchi smiles back at him, her eyes softening. “I see. Well then I hope that you were successful.”

Anakin doesn’t answer her immediately so Padme pulls the conversation back to her original intent. “Of course, there will be dangers. We don’t yet know how the Jedi fit into all this. But I trust Anakin to guide us in this matter.”

“Senator Amidala,” says Senator Sadashassa from next to Anakin, “Going against the Chancellor without the support of the Jedi is risky, I do agree with you there. And of course, I can’t believe that the Jedi are not any happier with the war than we are.”

“Of course, Senator, you are correct. The Jedi have been facilitators of peace throughout the Republic for millennia,” says Senator Zar. He places his eating utensil down on the plate with a jarring clang. “But we must still respect that the Jedi Order is not a governing body of the Republic. It is not for the Jedi to influence politics on such a massive scale. They mediate, not direct.”

“And yet they are Generals in a Republic army,” Bail says, impassioned and his eyebrows furrowed. “Did not the Republic command them in that? Are they not citizens of this body the same as any other sentient? Does that not give them at least equal representation within the government as any other citizen?”

“Yes, but Senator Organa,” says Senator Chuchi, “we are not talking about voting, or actively participating civilly. We are talking about directly influencing the executive branch.” Her voice lowers to a tight whisper, her tone strained. “Directly influencing in the Chancellor himself."

“But who better to inform and advise the Chancellor than the Jedi? Are they not as skilled as any of us?” Mon says, interjecting in her quiet way. 

Padme looks to Anakin to gauge his expression. She feels a momentary burst of pity for her friend; he never did enjoy politics. He gained more pleasure from action on the battlefield or to let Obi-wan take the lead in negotiations. 

But they’ve gone past a time when such personal preferences were of any importance.

Anakin licks his lips before speaking, “You are all correct, I believe, Senators. Yes, it is the job of the Jedi to protect the interests of the Republic. And I personally feel that we are citizens just as much as any of you. But,” he pauses, “the Jedi shouldn’t have been caught up in this war. We weren’t meant for it. And the Jedi Council is a separate than the Senate. That’s how it’s meant to be at least.

“But I think you’re trying to set a good example here. To lead by example and everything.” He fiddles with his napkin but keeps his attention on the faces around the table. 

“I don’t think that bringing the Council into this will make it look good for you. It will look like the Jedi are scared maybe. Or if it does go your way, then it will look like the Jedi have too much power over the Senate.

“I don’t want the Jedi to look weak. We’ve been fighting and dying in this war.” He looks over to Padme. “But I don’t want the Jedi to look power hungry either, Senator Amidala. We’re not. I can’t speak for everyone but we’re tired of fighting in this war We’re tired of sending our padawans to battlefields. We want it to end.”

By the end, many heads are nodding around the table. Senator Alavar’s lips are pinched tight but her face set in a determined line. 

Padme can’t say that she’s shocked at eloquence of his comments. But she is surprised at his position. She squeezes her hands under the table. “Thank you Anakin,” she says, “I appreciate your participation in this decision. And I acknowledge your insightful points. I can agree that your logic on this matter is sound.”

Bail looks disappointed but he speaks with grace as always. “Yes, thank you Knight Skywalker. I believe that we must pursue a different course if we are to be successful. I agree with your analysis that the Jedi are playing a difficult and nuanced role in this war. I would not want to cause your Order any more grief than has already been forced upon you.”

“Please remember, dear Senators,” says Sadashassa, clasping her hands on the table. “That we have so many Senators on our side. Surely that will persuade the Chancellor.” She glances around the table. “Even without the input of the Jedi Council.”

“Then,” Padme says, mustering up all the confidence she can and squeezing it into her words. “We will present the petition of the 2000 to the Chancellor immediately. Things may still change.”

They all talk about logistics then and Anakin excuses himself from the table only when it seems polite enough to leave. Padme offers him a parting smile, her face pinched, but they don’t have a chance to do more than exchange basic goodbyes.

He takes the train back to the Temple. Since Mortis, he’d been officially grounded. Trying to borrow a Jedi speeder would only bring up more questions into his actions. He’d been lucky in that the Council wasn’t insisting on more oversight of his everyday activities. Perhaps they think that with his Master tucked away from the outside world, they had him in a bind. And perhaps they're right.

He slumps into a dirty seat next to a giant Weequay and a sour looking male human. They both look up at him briefly as he sits but don’t seem to recognize his face and go back to their tablets. Anakin folds his hands in his lap, his feet planted firmly apart to brace himself against the light swaying of the train car.

He watches the buildings fly past through the transparisteel across the aisle, looking dully over the heads and shoulders of the other occupants facing him. Even though the sun flashes off the outer plating of the tallest spires, the inside of the car is saturated with the pungent smell of wet clothes and unwashed hide; quite the departure from Padme’s posh dinner party. 

Anakin shifts in his seat, his lightsaber stabbing into his back form under his tunic and his mind buzzing.

“Another dead on Felucia,” someone says a few rows down. More people crowd onto the train at the next stop, pushing each other as they try to grab for bars and rings to hold on. Anakin strains his neck for a moment but can’t see the speaker. “One more Jedi out of the way.”

“Sounds like you want the Separatists to win,” says another voice, this one lower in timber. 

“I’ll take any winner over this war. What are we even fighting about anyways? Can’t systems leave if they want? Just like I can get a new place if I want. Or if I don’t like my boss, I leave.” The first voice pauses and Anakin catches a glimpse of a horned head and spectacles. “They wanna leave, let ‘em.”

A cry of an infant drowns out the rest of their conversation and Anakin sinks back into his seat. 

The warm press of bodies and the distant murmur of conversation lull his mind into a distant meditation. Despite the sleeping aides that the Ward has provided him with, his nights aren’t particularly restful. He often wakes up in the morning shivering from some chilling dream or with a thousand conversations on his mind that he’s never had. They’re easier to remember now; each dream comes like a distant memory. As if he had lived them himself.

He doesn’t tell Obi-wan about all of them. He doesn’t want his Master to worry. 

Anakin’s fists tighten in his lap as his neighbors bump against him in their own seats. A surge of pain laces up the back of his skull, brushed away before he can even acknowledge the pain. He’s aware, suddenly, of the separation of his mind and body in the grasp of another vision. 

The heavy smell of rotting garbage suffocates him for a brief moment as he acclimates to the stale air. He’s huddled down in a corner of a filthy room. The throbbing hum of the power grid vibrates through the plating of the wall against his back. The lights, lowered to conserve energy, barely illuminate the crowd of cloaked bodies scattered in clumps across the floor; their private conversations lost in the din. He checks for his sidearm again taking comfort in the hard line of it against his hip. 

Obi-wan shifts next to him, his face caked with grime and blood. “Are you hungry?” he asks, his tone soft and scratchy. “It may be some time before we have another chance to eat.” 

Anakin shrugs. “I could eat. But I’ll leave it for the others. I had something at Padme’s.” His own words are quite and foreign in the strange setting.

“Would it settle your stomach at least? You’ve been projecting.”

“Sorry,” he says automatically. “I’m trying not to.”

Obi-wan intertwines their fingers in the dark space between their bodies; out of sight of the others. “I know.”

The squealing of the train slams his mind back into the present with a jolt. He glances around; the occupants emptied to only a few stragglers as it rattles closer to the Temple complex. He blinks rapidly at the blinding sunlight streaming into the car. The Weequay sitting next to him stands up to wait by the door the stop before Anakin needs to get off. 

“Hey you,” he says, his voice gruff. 

Anakin looks over sharply, noticing that they’re the only two left in the car. He clears his throat as the train comes to a stop. “Ah, yes?”

“Might want to cover that face next time, Jedi. Lots of folks aren’t fond of military types ‘round here.”

He steps off before Anakin can react; the train doors hissing closed behind him.

Anakin bypasses the main entrance to the Temple and instead follows the service entrance down through the lower levels. The staff ignore him there, looking aside as he walks by. Anakin doesn’t know whether they’re uncomfortable with his face or his clothes. He takes the freight lifts by the hanger up to the sleeping quarters. Bypassing Obi-wan’s guarded room, he turns down the corridor to his own assigned quarters. He slumps onto the floor just inside, sliding down the door to the floor. His jaw clenches, the backs of his molars grinding down in frustration.

The Force offers him little comfort when he reaches for it.

Taking a few deep breaths through his nose, he raises his com to his mouth. “Captain Rex,” he says, his voice as loud as he can bear in the silence of his room. 

“General Skywalker,” Rex says, his voice surprised but pleased over their link. “It's good to hear from you, sir.”

Anakin attempts to smile but luckily Rex isn’t around to see him fail. “You too, Rex,” he says, his voice soft. He clears his throat. “I have a few updates for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I gave an estimated end-game for this whole thing! Lol, only half-way through!


	19. Flash Point

Clouds cover Coruscant's sky in a filmy blanket as rain falls steadily, tapping off the large window in Obi-Wan’s room in a rhythmic blessing. Drops slide down the cool transparisteel and trace over invisible trails along the clear surface. In the distance, thunder and lightning crack and flash across the sky highlighting the skyscrapers in a dazzling instant. 

Anakin sits in front of the window with his back straight and feet folded up in front of him. A single wooden cube faces him; all sides blank and smoothed over with use. He had picked it up from the creche earlier that morning. Behind him, on the low bed, Obi-Wan occasionally shuffles about under the sheet gathering and re-organizing his data pads. He hasn’t uttered anything substantial about his task, but Anakin hears him mutter under his breath occasionally in  excitement.

Anakin focuses his attention back on the block. Obi-Wan’s force presence accompanies him; his thoughts in the back of Anakin’s mind but lazy and effervescent. Anakin quiets his breath and furrows his eyebrows, trying to reach the block through the Force. He feels it, like Obi-Wan, on the edge of his mind. In the Force, it appears as a dark lump of doubt and frustration. Anakin imagines reaching out and plucking it from the ground. 

His fingers slip and slide over it in his mind, grasping at it like an oil slick. He releases his breath with a huff. 

Obi-Wan stills behind him. 

“If you’ve got something Master-like to say, just say it,” Anakin says, grinding his teeth. His hands flex on his knees.

“No,” Obi-Wan says. “Nothing terribly wise. Just a suggestion that lunch might prove more interesting.” 

Anakin flops back against the mattress in the small room, dropping his head to stare up at the light ceiling. Obi-Wan’s yellow lamp casts a wide circle in the corner of the room. His stomach growls in the stillness.

“Your body betrays you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He’s smiling when he puts aside his tablet. “I’ll just call down for something hot then?”

Anakin doesn’t need to respond. He rolls over and balances his chin on his forearm so he can watch Obi-Wan access the Temple system. The sleeves of Anakin’s black shirt ride up exposing his one thin and pale wrist. From this close, he can hear the tiny motors in his mech hand crank and whir as he makes a fist. 

“Stew, it seems, is the best choice today,” Obi-Wan says. He settles down on the floor at the end of the bed on his knees. Anakin envies his strong hands and steady balance even though he knows he shouldn’t. Those are Jedi thoughts. “Will that be alright for your stomach? You are supposed to be eating in the ward so Healer Nema can monitor your progress.”

Anakin groans. “Urgh, I should have never told you that!”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Please Anakin, you know I would never discourage your company.”

Anakin doesn’t know what to say, his mouth dry, so he clears his throat. “I’ve been on solids for a few weeks now. As long as the droids don’t dump a sack of hot flakes in it, I’ll be fine.”

Obi-wan cocks his head to the side in thought. “Although, exactly how you’re getting permission to visit me, I’ll never figure out.” The corners of Obi-wan’s eyes crinkle up in mirth at Anakin when he stiffens. “Perhaps is best I don’t know.”

Anakin rubs his face on his sleeve, mumbling. “‘ts nothing bad. Just never asked for permission. They let me in; no questions.”

The sound of the rain lulls their conversation until the serving droid arrives a few minutes later. Neither one of the guards in the hall turns as Obi-Wan opens the door and ushers the droid in. It places the legged serving tray, holding their steaming bowls, on the floor next to Anakin. Obi-Wan waits by the door for the droid to leave before sitting down again. 

He passes Anakin a spoon. Anakin makes a show of blowing on each mouthful as he raises them to his lips. Each bite boils in his mouth with a burst of flavors against his tongue. He forces himself to swallow knowing he needs to eat more to regain his physical strength. 

But, when his bowl is mostly empty, Anakin drops his spoon on the tray with a clatter. “I’ll throw up if I eat anymore,” he says, groaning and pushing the bowl towards Obi-Wan. “Take it.”

“This isn’t about the meeting with Senator Amidala is it?”

Anakin shakes his head. “No, well, not really. Not directly.”

Obi-Wan reaches for Anakin’s portion when he is done with his own. Anakin watches him eat, leaning against the side of the mattress. “Healer Nema didn’t knock me out last night,” he says scratching at Obi-Wan’s sheet with his black fingers. “I was on a half dose two weeks ago and a quarter last week. I guess she decided I was good enough without it. And I’ve been sleeping in my quarters almost every night. She only wants me to come back every few nights for observation now.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” He questions. He sets aside Anakin’s bowl and settles his hands in his lap. 

In his loose shirt and casual pants, Anakin can image that they’re sitting anywhere else other than the Temple. That there aren’t any guards outside Obi-Wan’s room and he isn’t under house arrest for saving Anakin’s life. He flushes under the intensity of Obi-wan’s full attention like he always does.

“And did you sleep?”

Anakin shrugs. “A bit. I dreamed about you fighting someone. With Jar’Kai. You’d gotten a lot better since we practiced on Mortis. You were winning.” He pulls his own lightsaber off his utility belt and turns it in his hands. The yellow light of the room lights up the hilt in a magnetizing glow. He hasn’t ignited it since then. 

“It will come, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. 

Anakin isn’t sure if he’s talking about his peace of mind or the Force, but Obi-Wan’s constant balm of patience soothes the edges of his mind and the rolling anger of his errant thoughts. Anakin closes his eyes and breathes in and out to steady himself. 

He feels unmoored, awash in an ocean of indecision. His every moment on that planet comes to him in shattered half-remembered fragments. Sometimes, he feels like he’s back there again, feeling the movement of the Force flow through every fiber of his soul and body. And other times, the Force is gone from him, leaving him an empty space of pain and confusion. Like he is alone in the Temple, alone on Coruscant. That Obi-Wan has abandoned him. 

He tries to brush those thoughts from his mind but they cling to his fears. Scrapping and scrabbling for purchase like dying soldiers spread out across a battlefield. And part of Anakin, the unrelenting hateful part, doesn’t want them to perish. That part wants them to flourish on the proof that the Order left him. That Obi-Wan left him to die. 

His lightsaber falls to the mattress with a muffled thump. 

Obi-Wan’s hands slide the tray to the side so he can reach across the space between them. His hands are warm around Anakin’s fingers. “Look at me, Anakin,” he says. 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Anakin says. His voice hitches and cracks. He stares down at the seam of their hands. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“And neither did I,” Obi-Wan says. “But we are here. Together and alive. Is such a blessing to be discounted?” 

Anakin lips twitch. “Alive, Master? The Force runs from me and the Council gloats over their hold on you; Anakin Skywalker’s uncontrollable Master.”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Well, yes, that seems about correct. Although, I believe you forgot to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi’s emotional apprentice.”

“Please,” Anakin says, affecting the snotty tenor of one of Padme’s political friends, “I add nothing but accolades to your lineage.” But his voice falls flat and neither of them laugh at his silly attempt at humor. Anakin suddenly feels ashamed at his teasing. 

“I wasn’t willing to risk you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He’s staring at Anakin’s face. “When you started your apprenticeship, I tried to follow the code. To only allow myself so much. I defied the Council to train you but I was determined to instruct you properly. To show you the true path of a Jedi.

“At first, the Council stalled your training, trying to salvage their orders. But they gave up eventually. You really did exceed their expectations.” He smiles and squeezes Anakin’s hands. “I was proud of you, and proud of my own accomplishments as well. I reveled in your success as if it were my own. I was determined to make you the best Jedi the Order had ever seen. 

“I became selfish. And angry at the Council for stifling our progress. I took you to see your mother out of spite. I encouraged you to rebuke the Chancellor out of jealousy.

Anakin stares at him, his mouth open in surprise. “Obi-Wan, you hardly-”

Obi-Wan cuts him off with a low murmur. “I admit that I was ignorant to the true reasons behind my actions then. And that I have barely begun to analyse my own failings since.” 

Anakin licks his lips. A hot tingle of annoyance curdles in his stomach. He feels Obi-Wan’s emotions stirring in the Force like a roll of thunder across the skyline outside the windows. They slosh against his mind in an uncontrolled festoon of knotted feelings; the cloying syrup of confusion and indecision. 

“All these years I thought I was teaching you the true way of the Jedi. Instead, I was slipping. Slipping down a path-” He cuts himself off, his words echoing in the small room.

“You’ve become balanced in a way I can never achieve. In a way I have fallen from. You aren’t burdened by the fear of inadequacy as I am,” he says, starting again with a deep breath. Obi-Wan drops his gaze to their hands and his thumbs slide over the ridges in Anakin’s mechanical knuckles. His nail brushes against a thin exposed wire between joints and thrill of electrical pleasure simmers up Anakin’s spine. 

Anakin clears his throat. “That can’t be. You’re exaggerating. You’re delusional if you think I’m in balance. Mortis showed me that I’m not the person I thought I was.”

“I’m not a fool, Anakin. I’m proud. Proud of who you’ve become. And disappointed in myself,” Obi-Wan says. His fingers continue to sweep over Anakin’s black and gold fingers. “I was afraid for you. Afraid of what I would do if I lost you on that planet.” He smiles but it looks flat on his face. “But I will never regret bringing you home. Not in a thousand lifetimes. This is in my nature now, this selfishness and jealousy. I’ve come to accept it and I find I have no interest in abolishing these feelings.”

Obi-Wan’s hands still and he looks up at Anakin. “And I cannot hate myself for it,” he says. 

Anakin swallows, searching for time to choose his words. “What do you need from me Master? To forgive you? To tell you that you - becuase I will. Whatever-”

Obi-Wan’s feelings gather around them. In an instant, anger and frustration swirl and congeal in a cold, slimy puddle on the back of Anakin’s neck. But the blistering coal of his desire and passion folds across Anakin’s skin. He closes his eyes, caught up in the swell of conflicting emotions from his friend; emotions he’d only glimpsed across a battlefield or in the quiet moments in the morning laying in medical. They tangle with his own emotions, curling around his thoughts in an overwhelming swarm. 

“There is no passion, only peace,” Anakin says or else he’ll drown. His breath comes erratically and his head swims with a lack of oxygen. 

Obi-Wan holds his gaze steady. “I have no peace, Anakin, only passion.” His hands burn against Anakin’s flesh hand. “Breath, Anakin. Let the Force make you whole.”

Anakin sucks in a breathe. The Force lingers on the edge of his mind, patient and soothing. The antithesis to Obi-Wan confession of emotion. “What do you want from me, Master,” he asks again. This time his words are soft, tentative. . 

“Nothing I have any right to ask.” 

And Obi-Wan’s mind opens for him; his thoughts and scattered urges laid out in a twisted sculpture. At its base, the tenants of the Jedi Code support fears and inadequacies with the same tenacity as they support the conflicting urges of affection and longing. Upon the thin branches of half-formed vows, webs of loyalty, compassion and love string together memories of hopeful reunions and heart-wrenching goodbyes. 

Anakin sees his own life laid out before him through Obi-Wan’s disjointed puzzle of half-buried emotions and startling realizations. He sees their missions spent on countless planets brokering peace treaties. And times in the Temple’s dojo, picking each other off the floor, laughing and boasting. Then his own face, blood running down his cheek, shouting orders and stumbling to find cover as a tank explodes behind him. Obi-Wan’s fear surges up his spine and out his mouth into a muffled scream that loses sound as instantly as it had started. 

Anakin, on Mortis, shivering in the dirt, body flexing and eyes open but looking at nothing. The fast beat of Obi-Wan’s heart threatening to shrivel - he can’t take it anymore- he has to-

The stream of tainted memories settle back into the controlled space of Obi-Wan’s mind and Anakin steadies himself against the mattress. The room spins for a hot second; Anakin caught up in it’s rotation. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers into fists in order to find his breath. Obi-Wan’s hands are back in his own lap, leaving Anakin’s own fingers cool and clammy. 

They do not speak as the rain continues outside the warm room. Occasionally, a burst of lightning flashes across the transparisteel, highlighting Obi-Wan’s blank face in shock of white light. 

Anakin always knew it was a mask; that no one could be so separate, so controlled. He had never thought to imagine what was really behind it. Almost forty years of hot emotions left to fester with no escape. 

He hadn’t imagined how beautiful it could be. 

When he opens his eyes and pulls his former Master to him, Obi-Wan’s body is hard and taut underneath his hands, muscled with years of kata’s and military drills. Anakin slides his hands across Obi-Wan’s sides, feeling every rib and the soft spots below. His fingers trail over the ridge of Obi-Wan’s hips and travel up his back as their knees bump against each other.

“Forgive me, Anakin,” Obi-wan says. “I’ve brought you to ruin.”

“Shut up,” Anakin says. “Shut up.” He tugs again, stronger this time and with more purpose, at Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling him up onto his lap. 

A moment of disorientation spins him then as a vision overwhelms him. He remembers sitting like this before, in the deep hold of flight chair, with Obi-Wan perched on his lap and Anakin’s hands on his body. They were laughing and kissing, their words strung with companionship. He remembers the warm flutter of Obi-Wan’s lips on his neck and the base heat pounding in his heart and gathering in his lap. 

A vision; one he’d forgotten while on Mortis, before he woke up to find Obi-Wan soaked and unconscious in the cave next to him. The memory feels almost as real as the warm glow from the lamp. And Anakin know he must have lived it; at least in some way. 

He suddenly needs to know if the way Obi-wan’s skin tasted was nothing but an illusion. Or if the warm weight of his body can rock Anakin into the same blissful happiness. 

Out of habit, Anakin reaches for the Force to steady his muscles as he lifts Obi-Wan onto the mused sheet. It comes to his call, flowing around his arms and legs like a stream of cool sweet water on a hot afternoon. Anakin breathes, gasping and lost in the pleasure of his success as well as the feel of Obi-Wan’s body against his own. 

Obi-wan’s head tips back, offering the pale line of his neck. Anakin sucks at it, his mind full of awe at the creature below him. And when Obi-Wan moans, a throb up though his chest and out of parted red lips, it leaves Anakin’s mouth impatient for more. 

“Anakin,” Obi-wan says, his voice breathless and cracking, “Anakin.”

They roll together, Obi-wan’s back against the firm mattress so Anakin can see all of him. He soaks in the sharp ridge of Obi-wan’s collar bone just peaking out of his collar. He trails his eyes down the firm jut of his chest to where a thin, achingly delicious stripe of pale flesh above his pants draws his thumb. Obi-wan’s frame rattles with each brittle breath as his lips part and his eyes darken with something Anakin had never dared even contemplate before.

“I am a jealous creature, Anakin,” Obi-wan says. His hand search through the folds of Anakin’s shirt looking for hot skin. “Jealous and covetous. And angry at myself that I have already fallen so far.”

Anakin shakes his head and seals his lips over Obi-wan’s. They slide together, dry and chapped, and pour pleasure into Anakin’s heart. “No, Obi-wan. My choices are my own. Not yours.” He leans down to taste the fine hairs on Obi-wan’s jaw. “I want this. You.”

Obi-Wan’s hands fist through the thin layer of his shirt, tugging up up over his head. He sits up as much as Anakin’s weight on his legs will allow to kiss at the bared line of his collarbone with a gasp of want. His rough hands curl around the back of Anakin’s neck, fingers sliding through his curls, looking for a hold. 

Clothes fall to the floor, forgotten as soon as they reveal muscle and sweaty skin. Anakin swallows down a wanton moan, Obi-wan’s name on his lips, as hands grasp and kneed his body. 

Obi-wan pushes Anakin back to his shoulder blades touch the sheet and smooths his palms down along the tender insides of Anakin’s thoughts. ”Look at you,” Obi-wan says, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “Anakin, look at you.”

Anakin arches his back up in a strangled plea as they rock together. Obi-wan grasps at them hard between their bodies and slides his fist across the delicate skin; all lightsaber callouses and firm grip. 

“Let me hear you, my dear Anakin,” Obi-wan says into his ear. “I want to hear you when you come for me.”

He moans as he explodes over an unseen cliff, hot and sudden, as Obi-wan holds him tight. The flash of his own pleasure lights up the Force so bright that Anakin bites his lip until the copper taste of blood fills his mouth. 

Obi-wan kisses him again, swiping at his lip with a slick tongue, and holds Anakin’s hips in a bruising grip until he stutters and sobs into Anakin’s mouth. He stills, his body strung tight, before slipping his mouth down Anakin’s throat and laving at his shoulder. 

The Force hums between them as Obi-wan settles in next to him; their skin splattered with sweat and semen. A flash of lightning splits the sky but the roll of thunder is far off and muted. 

“Your mind is still busy, young one,” Obi-wan says, his voice soft in the dim light. 

Anakin tucks his arms behind his head, his side still pressed against Obi-wan’s hip. “I was thinking that we’ve been here before.”

Obi-wan rolls onto his side so he can push himself up onto one elbow to see Anakin’s face. “I think I would have remembered you moaning underneath me.” He smiles, tracing a thumb over Anakin’s lips. 

Even with the sticky mess covering his hips, Anakin blushes. “No,” he says, “not like that. Well, sort of. I mean like this, together.”

Obi-wan’s eyes search across Anakin’s face. “Happy you mean? Or as happy as we can be?”

Anakin drags his metal hand through Obi-wan’s hair, scratching the tips of his fingers lightly against his scalp. “Yeah, happy. No war. No troops. No prophecy or Council.”

A large cruiser rattles past the window, it's lights spilling up and over their legs before it disappears out of view. “They’re sending me to a Republic prison, Anakin,” Obi-wan says. 

Anakin’s hand stills, his fingers wounds with Obi-wan soft hair. “What?” he says, his lips suddenly numb. 

“Mace told me after the Council deliberated last week. While you were at Senator Amidala’s function. The Senate will be overseeing my trial.” He leans back as Anakin struggles to sit up. The sheets wrapped around his ankles feel like metal shackles. 

“They can’t,” Anakin finds himself saying. “They can’t. You’re a Jedi. They can’t just pawn you off to a civilian court. It's just not done.” He reaches over the side of the mattress for his pants and tries to tug them on. His feet keep getting caught up in the legs.

Obi-wan lays a hand on his thigh and Anakin freezes; the intimate touch still surprising and yet completely calming. His Master’s fingers trail up over the jut of his hip bones to spread out over his stomach. “Anakin,” he says. “It's done.”

Like Obi-wan has pulled a stopper, Anakin’s panic rushes out of him and he drops his chin to his chest squeezing his eyes shut. “When?”

“I don’t know. It might not be decided yet.” 

Anakin can’t bear to look him in the face. Obi-wan shifts next to him, moving up on the bed so they are hip to hip. He untangles Anakin’s fingers from around his pants and tosses them back on the floor. 

“I know better, Obi-wan,” Anakin says after a few moments of just their breath. “I’ve seen you. I know you aren’t as okay with this as you look.” He looks up, twisting his body so he can kneel on the bed between Obi-wan’s knees. “Please don’t hide from me anymore. I just saw- I need to see you again. Not Knight Kenobi. I can never go back to him.”

Obi-wan drops his own face to his chest. “Its someone I’ve been for a long time, Anakin.” His voice is quiet, like a soft whisper. “Who else can I be?”

“Yourself, Obi-wan,” Anakin says, his voice too harsh with Obi-wan’s pale skin bared for his eyes only. “That person who I fight next to in the field. The one one who said ‘kark you’ to the Council and got me off that karking planet. That one.”

“I don’t know if I much like who that person is,” Obi-wan says. His voice stays mild and even but the Force tightens around them. It squeezes so tightly for an instant that Anakin’s breath catches in his throat. The Force rises, rolling through the room like a gust of hot wind. The lamp next to the bed rattles casting the golden light around the small space in a flickering dance. Like a natural born reaction, Obi-wan’s lightsaber flies into his hand from its place under the pillows.

He peers up at Anakin’s strained face from under his tousled hair. “No,” he says cocking his head just a bit. He looks fully up to Anakin’s face. “That’s not quite right.”

A chill spears Anakin through his chest as a passing speeder’s light run across the walls of the room as it passes the Temple. The bright glare reflects back through Obi-wan’s blue eyes for the barest instant causing them to flare an unnatural and sickly red. In a moment of surprise, he tries to pull the Force about him but his hands grasp at thin air. 

Obi-wan’s eyebrows furrow and his lips press together in an unhappy pout. “That’s not right,” he says again.

Anakin swallows. “You always encouraged me to figure out who I was.” A flush of blood colors his cheeks as he realizes what his next words will be. “You even ah...encouraged my friendship with Padme.”

He bites his lip. “I visited her, you know. Years ago when she first came to Coruscant. You told me to ‘let the Force guide me’ although I don’t think that’s what you had in mind.”

Obi-wan’s face softens and the tight tension of the Forces relaxes a bit. “I see,” he says as his lips tilt upward. “And was your curiosity satisfied? You never did seem as ardent after her visit.” 

Anakin leans in to kiss up Obi-wan’s shoulder to his jaw; embarrassed that he brought up Padme at all when he’s just seen Obi-wan whine with such abandon. But he says at last, “She declined my advances. And then, afterwards, I guess I didn’t want her the same way. She’s just…”

Obi-wan pulls back from him to lean against the wall behind his ridiculous mound of pillows. “I know, Anakin,” he says. 

“Then you know it's not wrong,” Anakin says, unable to keep himself from blurting out this thoughts. “Love, I mean. It's not wrong no matter what the council says. We’re encouraged to be compassionate. But where do they draw the line? If you choose to save one person in a fight - but then you lose the battle - they would say you did the wrong thing. But where’s the compassion there?”

“But you see,” Obi-wan says, interrupting in his polite way, “that I wouldn’t save that person.”

Anakin cringes and has to look down at the thin sheet. Tears prickle at his eyes and he thinks of the sour memory of Obi-wan leaving Mortis for the first time even though he told him to go. “For the greater good?” he asks, mumbling.  

But Obi-wan continues, his legs sprawling open and his soft penis rolling across his messy thigh. “I left you on that planet because it was for the greater good, yes,” he says. His eyes narrow and the Force jumps to his command. “And I took you away from that planet because it was killing you. And I will not allow that to happen. I’m not concerned about that someone caught in the middle of a crossfire but I am interested in you, Ani. Keeping you alive. Making you happy. Having you.”

  
He smiles and it's nothing more than a flash of teeth behind red lips. “Just you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this 95% done for forever. Finally, I got around to the right mindset to finish. As always, let me know what you think!!

**Author's Note:**

> ObikinBigBang2017 !!
> 
> Title: Sir Walter Scott's 'Lady of the Lake: Canto 3'
> 
> HE is gone on the mountain,  
> He is lost to the forest,  
> Like a summer-dried fountain,  
> When our need was the sorest.  
> The font reappearing  
> From the raindrops shall borrow;  
> But to us comes no cheering,  
> To Duncan no morrow!
> 
> The hand of the reaper  
> Takes the ears that are hoary,  
> But the voice of the weeper  
> Wails manhood in glory.  
> The autumn winds rushing  
> Waft the leaves that are searest,  
> But our flower was in flushing  
> When blighting was nearest.
> 
> Fleet foot on the correi,  
> Sage counsel in cumber,  
> Red hand in the foray,  
> How sound is thy slumber!  
> Like the dew on the mountain,  
> Like the foam on the river,  
> Like the bubble on the fountain,  
> Thou art gone—and for ever!
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know if you notice any glaring errors. I've read this karking thing so many times I'm sick of looking at it. Also, constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> Please check out the amazing art Alyruko made for this chapter: http://alyruko.tumblr.com/post/160577134926/half-of-a-obikinbigbang-entry-based-on-selcier I can't stop looking at it! Thank you so much Aly! You can also see more of their amazing art on tumblr here: http://alyruko.tumblr.com/
> 
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/selcier


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